


No Good in Goodbye

by Snoweylily



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Drugged Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke Approves (White Collar), Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt Neal Caffrey, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Neal Caffrey, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Neal Caffrey Does Not Like Guns, Neal Caffrey Has PTSD, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Neal Caffrey Whump, Protective Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Protective Mozzie, Protective Peter Burke, Shot Neal Caffrey, Sick Neal Caffrey, Stabbed Neal Caffrey, Stabbing, all the whump, if more whump is fixing it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoweylily/pseuds/Snoweylily
Summary: Neal has a terrible habit of finding himself in dangerous situations.Thisis what happens when he doesn't get out quick enough. A retelling of the series, except this time, he doesn't escape unharmed. Between getting shot, beaten up, and stabbed, it's fun times for all!Or, the one where Neal regularly gets just thatlittle bitmore bruised up than canon, and Peter deals with the fallout.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke
Comments: 106
Kudos: 229





	1. 1 - Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Fanart [here!](https://snoweylily.tumblr.com/post/623793146944487424/summary-neal-has-a-terrible-habit-of-finding)

**1 - Pilot**

Peter told him to read about warrant law.

So he did.

Distracting him from his 'friend' was just an added bonus, one that Mozzie was sure to thank him for later.

Lying on the couch in his New York 10-million-dollar-view guest house, he flicked through the pages one by one. He was good at learning things, always had been, and it'd only taken him one month in prison to learn how to re-stripe a utility card using the record head on an old mix tape, hot-wire a maintenance truck without any tools, and hack into the American Express credit card belonging to the lovely wife of the irritating Warden. He memorised everything he came across, and it didn't take long before he found something useful in the navy-coloured hardback that Peter technically _hadn't_ given to him.

He shut the tome and drummed his fingers on the cover, looking down at his tracker contemplatively.

It was a stupid plan, dubiously necessary but certainly risky… and it might just work.

Jumping up, he grabbed the keys to the jag, and _ran_.

* * *

Two men loitered outside the warehouse, obviously on guard and obviously armed. Neal forced his worries to the back of his mind and got out, raising the camera immediately and obnoxiously beginning to click.

"What's this?!"

"Hey!"

"Hi there" He waved, smiling at the man who came at him from the other side.

"Hey! _Hey!_ What are you doing?"

He took a photo of him for good measure.

"Oh, I'm- I'm taking a photography class over at the Annex, and pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure-fire A".

He let himself be grabbed, tapering down on the automatic fight-or-flight response.

"Take him in".

His hands were hauled behind his back by the two thugs as he was forcibly dragged towards the warehouse.

Peter should have gotten the call by now.

 _God_ he hoped Peter had gotten the call by now.

Shoving him through the metal door, he was relieved to find copies of 'Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanitos' being unpacked next to him. There were printing presses on his other side, and a bench for drying the ink too. They were all just another nail in Hagen's coffin.

"Jimmy! Go get Hagen!"

And speak of the devil…

* * *

Neal quickly raised his hands as he was shoved into the Plexiglas cube, the door pulled shut behind him.

"What _exactly_ is going on here?!"

The second their attention turned, he leapt forward, and turned the key in the lock.

"Why'd you bring him inside?" Hagen snapped, as his so-called lawyer pulled a gun from his coat.

"He was taking pictures".

He quickly pulled the keys from the lock.

The lawyer banged on the glass with his weapon, "Open the door! You're a _dead_ man".

Thankfully for him, it was a Glock 19.

He grinned, "That sounds like inch-thick Lexan".

In other words, _more_ than capable of stopping 9mm bullets.

Hagen obviously realised it the same time he did, and made a gesture at a nearby thug, who quickly ran off.

"Keys are on the way?" Neal guessed, knocking on the solid wood table.

Hagen, however, _smirked_.

"Not the keys, no, but friends of mine".

"Nice".

"Perhaps you've heard of them" He continued, "They're called Smith and Wesson".

His grin froze on his face.

 _Shit_.

He hadn't been lying when he told Peter that he didn't like guns, but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to use them. And while a Glock 17 couldn't pierce through the semi-bullet-proof Lexan glass, an old-fashioned Smith and Wesson Model 686 most _certainly_ could.

"Not so brave now, are you, friend?"

_Shit shit shit shit shit, where the hell was Peter?!_

"You shouldn't have signed the bonds" He replied instead, trying to buy time, "I'm no stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse".

"I'm gonna kill you".

From the corner of his eye, he saw the man return, revolver in hand and .357 Magnum cartridges in place.

"I hope whatever they're giving you is worth it".

In the distance, he heard sirens, and couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, despite the imminent threat.

"It is".

The other men all turned, realising that they were caught, and Hagen grabbed the gun from his thug and levelled it at the glass, finger tightening on the trigger.

"You are a particular kind of _bastard!_ "

* * *

Peter didn't know what to think when he got the phone call at half five that morning.

Well, no, actually, correction, he knew _exactly_ what to think.

_What the fuck are you doing, Neal?!_

Next to him, Elizabeth stirred, and rolled over to face him.

"What's going on?"

He took a deep breath before yanking back the quilt.

" _He ran_ ".

* * *

When he heard where, exactly, Neal had run to, however… well, let's just say he wasn't _quite_ as angry as he had been before.

Sliding out of the police car, he couldn't help but grin.

"Gentlemen, we have a fugitive hiding in this building. Knock down those doors!"

From inside, they heard panicked yelling.

"Grab the bonds. Come on, let's go! Everybody, come on!"

 _Perfect_.

"Quick, let's go, move them. Come on!"

The FBI assault team lined up at the doors, ready to go in, ready to arrest Hagen, ready to get Neal-

_*BANG*_

Peter froze, heart pounding in his chest from the unexpected gunshot.

That hadn't been one of theirs.

They hadn't even gone in yet.

Which could only mean...

 _Neal_.

* * *

"Let's go!" He yelled, "Get in there!"

"Federal agents!"

"Get down! Get down!"

"Do not move!"

"Get up! Get them up in the air!"

"There you go!"

The second they were cleared, Peter ran in.

_Neal where's Neal I have to find Neal-_

"You're too late, friend".

He quickly turned, only to find Hagen smirking at him, both hands in the air and an old revolver lying at his feet.

"The art thief got what was coming to him".

Heart pounding, he looked around, frantically, past the kneeling criminals and armed FBI agents, past all the evidence they needed to send them away, past the man they'd come here to arrest himself. His gaze landed on the glass container of an office standing by itself in the middle of the room, a sharp contrast to the old books and dust around it.

The door was shut, and likely locked, but in the centre of the glass, where spider like tendrils cracked out from around it… was a bullet hole.

* * *

He was running forwards before he even knew what he was doing, using his own weapon to shoot the lock off the door and kick it open.

"Neal?"

There was a shoe poking out from behind the desk.

"Neal!"

Racing around it, he paused for a second too long, before training took over and he yelled back at Diana to "call for a damn ambulance!"

He quickly knelt behind the desk, glass crunching beneath his knees and palms and it was the very same glass that a bullet had punched through and sent hurdling directly towards-

" _Neal_ " He breathed, hands hovering unsurely over an unmoving body.

The man was motionless, _wrongfully_ so, but his chest rose far too quickly up and down with each breath, which at least meant that he was still alive.

Shoving the leather chair to one side, Peter carefully turned the younger man's head to face him.

Unfocused blue eyes latched onto him immediately.

Blood stained the rest of his face.

"Can you hear me?" He quickly asked, shrugging out of his coat, "Neal? Can you _hear_ me?"

He slowly blinked and Peter tapped the side of his face gently, before pressing his sleeve against the worst bleeding wound on his forehead.

"Caffrey, I need you to focus. _Can you hear me?!_ "

And then, almost hesitantly, there was a nod.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Okay. That's good, that's- that's _good_ , Neal. Do you know where you are?"

"... 'agen?"

"That's right. He's been arrested, you're still in the warehouse" He replied, eyes scanning the rest of the man's body for any injury, "He shot at you, Neal. Were you hit?"

He slowly shook his head, "Don't 'ink so… Glass broke".

Small sparkling pieces of lexan glittered red in the early morning sunlight, forming a macabre halo around his head.

But he wasn't hit.

He wasn't shot.

_He was going to be okay._

* * *

"Alright, up you get" Peter said, carefully sliding an arm beneath his back to hoist him up.

Neal groaned but did as told, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand and the desk with the other. Together, they got him sitting upright, and after a minute or two of blinking and shaking off the dizziness, he was able to collapse down in the office chair.

"Better?"

"Better".

There were still a few small pieces of glass embedded in his skin, but Peter was glad to see that those injuries only extended to his face and hands, his thick belstaff coat having protected him from the worst of the glass.

Folding his own coat in half, and mourning the loss of it, he pressed it against Neal's head again and told him to keep it in place.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

Neal grimaced and wiped blood and dust from his eyes.

"Told them I was a photography student, they didn't like that, so they brought me in... Hagen recognised me, obviously".

" _Obviously_. Then what?"

He shrugged, then winced, "I locked the door, the lawyer pulled a gun, but the glass was too thick for him to do any damage".

"So Hagen found a bigger gun?"

He nodded, "Fired just after you pulled up. I dived behind the desk as quick as I could, missed the bullet".

"But not the glass".

"Or the table" He reluctantly admitted, "Hit my head on the way down. Hence the blood".

Peter studied him carefully, "You going to be alright?"

"Just a concussion, most likely. Head wounds bleed a lot, but it's only a small cut. Pulling out the glass will be the real _fun_ bit" He scowled, "Not to mind washing out blood from this suit".

"You could always just throw it out".

He looked like he'd been slapped.

" _Peter!_ " He exclaimed, "It's a _Devore!_ "

He smirked, shoulders relaxing as he finally accepted that Caffrey was going to be just fine.

* * *

"I take it you read that warrant law book, huh?"

Neal smirked, "Well, you know me. Gotta learn the rules before I can break them".

" _Uh huh_. Exigent circumstances, I believe?"

"Exigent circumstance allows the FBI to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant" He quoted, "And to seize any and all evidence that has been discovered in plain view, regardless of the connection to the original crime".

Peter couldn't help but smile.

"You know, you're really bad at this escape thing".

"What can I say? You should arrest me".

"Well, you are a fleeing suspect" He teased.

Neal gestured at the open safe next to them, and Peter turned, eyes widening when he realised.

"Is that the original Victory Bond?"

"Why yes, yes it is".

He shook his head, exasperated at the conman who was worth more than five of his Harvard grads put together, injured and all.

Standing up, he leant back against the desk, "You know, this makes me 3 and 0".

"Maybe I'm not trying hard enough".

Before he could reply to that somewhat dangerously ambiguous remark, there was a knock on the door.

"Paramedics are outside" Diana said, eyes roaming Neal's face with just a touch of worry, "Will I send them in?"

"I _can_ walk" He protested, rising unsteadily to his feet, "But the hospital's out of my jurisdiction, you know".

"Caffrey, you're out of your jurisdiction _now_ " She shot back, "I think the Marshall's will be alright with you _not_ looking like a glass pin cushion".

"Hurtful, Diana, very _very_ hurtful" He pouted, "What if my beautiful face gets scarred for life?"

"Then I'll thank god that you weren't wearing your hat" She shot back, "Losing _that_ would be the real travesty".

* * *

"Careful!" Peter warned, leading Elizabeth out onto the patio, "Alright?"

"Oh, honey-"

"Almost there" He interrupted, "Just a little farther".

"Think I'm getting seasick".

"Aright, this is good" He said, stopping them, "I want you to keep your eyes closed… _Okay_. Open them".

El slowly looked up.

"Honey, you know how every year I'm always promising you we're gonna go-"

"-to the Caribbean" She finished, nodding.

"This is _sort of_ what you wanted".

Peter watched as she looked around them, at the fairy lights and the Hawaii music and surf boards and umbrellas.

"Well, I- I think if I keep my eyes closed, I can actually _imagine_ us being there. Oh, and it's getting warmer".

"It is, sit down" He grinned, pulling her onto the beach chair.

"Oh, screw top" She teased, taking the beer.

"... Cheesy?"

"It's a little cheesy, but it's… but it's sweet".

He pulled out the hidden plane tickets.

"Maybe this will help".

She grabbed them like a child clutching onto a puppy.

"Belize" Peter said simply, "I found the time".

" _What?!_ "

"We have a week, and two plane tickets, and a seized villa in Sarteneja".

"In _where?_ "

"Oh, in this really _incredible_ beachfront villa that the bureau seized from this narco traffiker, it's amazing-"

"Okay it's- enough with- just tell me it's nice".

"It's nice".

"I love you".

"I love _you_ ".

She leant in for a kiss and he happily acquiesced.

"... Do you think we can pull that heater in a litter closer?"

"Yea, it's _cold_ ".

* * *

El laughed, and leant back against him, "... Did Neal set this up?"

"Am I not capable of doing something romantic for my wife by myself?"

"No".

He maintained a poker face for all of thirty seconds before grinning, "Yea, alright, he may have- he may have helped. A _little_. Sort of".

She smiled, "That's what I thought… How's he doing?"

"Oh, full recovery, of course" He reassured, "Has three stitches in his head and a concussion, but the rest just needs butterfly plasters and time".

"And less of _you_ nagging him".

He gave her an affronted look, "I do _not_ -"

"And you're inviting him for dinner as soon as we get back".

"What? _No!_ Why?"

"Peter".

" _Elizabeth!_ "

She raised an eyebrow at him and eventually, he sighed.

"... Oh alright. Dinner. _Fine_. I _do_ own him for four years, after all".

"He's not a dog, Peter".

"Well, you see, in many ways, he actually _is_. He's incredibly social, for one, and could talk a _nun_ into swearing. He's loyal, and somewhat territorial, usually has _no_ idea what I'm angry at him for…"


	2. 2 - Threads

**2 - Threads**

Neal watched as Ghovat shoved Tara in Peter's direction with a sinking heart.

There was _no_ _way_ that the Israeli didn't have a backup plan, and so far, things were moving far too smoothly for his liking. It was Rule #1, after all.

Always have a way out.

"If you'll notice, Agent Burke, I've added a little fashion accessory of my own to our model friend here" Ghovat said, "The belt is lined with plastique. I dial a number here, and she goes boom!"

And there was his way out.

"Give her the dress. Toss it" He continued, "Please don't try anything. I have five bars and free long distance. I can be far away and still cause you pain".

Neal watched as the terrorist walked away, dress confidently folded over one arm and phone held in the other, as if expecting another call at any minute.

Or waiting to explode the belt.

… That gave him an idea.

"Let him walk" Hughes ordered, "Even if he's bluffing, we can't take the chance".

He quickly pulled out his phone and dialled the given number.

"Yes?" Ghovat answered, and Neal grinned, "Hey, is this Steve? What's up, buddy? You never call".

The line went dead.

The others all stared at him.

"Alright, keep calling" He said, quickly jumping out of the van, "Jam his phone so he can't trigger the bomb. Keep calling him!"

Hughes nodded, once.

"Cruz, stay with Caffrey. Everybody else keep dialing!"

"Jam the phone! Jam the phone! Keep calling him!"

Neal didn't hesitate as he passed Peter.

"Hey! We're jamming his cell, get the belt off of her" He yelled, running past, "Do it, do it!"

Ahead of him, was Ghovat, glaring at his phone and cursing.

"Hey, Steve!" He called out, panting as he came to a stop.

He grinned and held up his phone.

Ghovat scowled and pulled out a gun.

Neal felt his eyes widen and he automatically took a small step backwards.

"Now what?"

* * *

Peter was completely and utterly, for lack of a better word, panicking.

He had to get the belt of Tara, but doing that could alert Ghovat, which in turn could trigger the bomb.

_Damn it!_

"Hey!"

He turned at the shout, only to find Neal running towards him.

"We're jamming his cell, get the belt off of her".

"You-"

"Do it, do it!" He demanded, running past.

Peter quickly turned back to the model.

"Hold still!"

His fingers fumbled uselessly with the clasp, and he distantly wondered if El had ever worn anything so complicated.

Then again, the plastic explosives attached did add another level of difficulty.

But finally, he managed to unlatch it, and quickly tore it off her.

"That's it! Good!" He flung it far away from them with all his might, "Everybody clear the area _now!_ "

He grabbed Tara and pulled her to the ground.

"Get down. Get down! _Get down!_ "

Quickly throwing himself over the girl, he waited for the inevitable explosion.

_*BANG*_

Peter tensed, expecting flames and shredded belt pieces to reach him at any minute.

They never came.

* * *

"Wow. You're actually doing the whole hero thing".

He looked up as Jones came to a stop next to him.

"Yea. They're gonna write songs about this".

Peter got to his feet and helped Tara up.

"Nice. You okay?"

She nodded, one head on her hand.

"Must've been quite a small bomb" Peter remarked, turning to where he'd thrown the belt.

It was still there.

He frowned.

"... Jones?"

"Yea?"

"... Did you hear that bang?"

The younger man followed his gaze and mirrored his expression when he saw the bomb still intact.

"But if _that_ didn't explode, then what…"

He suddenly froze, hand coming up to press against his earpiece.

Even as Peter watched, he paled.

"What? Jones, what is it? What's happened?"

"Agent Cruz had secured Ghovat. Area's contained. Bomb squad's on the way" He reported slowly, "But Caffrey's down".

* * *

Peter started running before he even finished his sentence.

He followed the wide tar road that Neal had ran towards, apprehension and anticipation building in his chest and making him break out in a cold sweat. 'Agent down' usually only meant one thing, and he couldn't associate _that_ with _Neal_ , not with _Caffrey_ , not with someone who was so very much _alive_ and _energetic_ and _playful_ , not-

Up ahead, he saw Ghovat face down on the pavement, hands cuffed behind his back and yelling obscenities.

Next to him, a few feet ahead, knelt Lauren, sports bra, shorts, headphones and all.

And lying in front of her, was Neal.

Peter froze, breath coming in short gasps, as he saw his agent press against the man's side, blood staining his white shirt and her tanned fingers, and he immediately thought the worst.

Then he saw Cruz smile at something the conman said, and all breath rushed from his body in relief.

* * *

Slowly making his way over, he gave her a questioning look as she looked up.

"Ghovat pulled a gun" She explained, "I distracted him while Prince Charming here tackled him, and it went off".

Neal gave a lazy grin when he saw him, head propped up on his own folded jacket.

" _Hey_ Peter".

"Hey yourself. You _tackled_ a man with a _gun?_ "

"I swept the leg. He went down".

" You did? Excellent. You don't look dirty" He teased.

"Yea, well. I know what I'm doing".

" _Clearly_ " He replied dryly, nodding at the red staining the tarred pavement, "Want to tell me what that is then?"

"Hughes has already called for paramedics" Lauren reassured, "There's a lot of blood, but it's just a graze. I doubt he'll even need stitches".

" _Just_ a graze? It feels like a red hot iron poker has been slapped against me" Neal groaned, "And _I'm_ the one meant to be rescuing _you_ ".

"You tackled Ghovat for me" She shrugged, "Despite the fact I _easily_ could have taken him. And _did_ , in fact, after he shot you".

He smirked, "That was pretty damn charming".

Peter rolled his eyes at the pair of them, and leant back on his haunches.

"Think you can walk?"

"I think I can _try_ " came the ever-so-helpful response.

"Yea. You're fine" He replied, "Come on, up you get".

Between him and Cruz, they managed to get him to his feet, despite his whining the entire time. Once up, Peter took a look at the wound, glad to find that it really _was_ just a graze, three or four inches above his left hip bone. There was still a mass of skin and muscle missing, but thankfully, there was nothing vital near it, or even any nerve endings. Like Lauren said, he probably wouldn't even need stitches.

"Alright" He said, pulling Neal's arm over his shoulder, "Let's go".

* * *

Half an hour later, and they were wrapping things up at the park.

The agents on standby had been sent home, the utility van was gone, and Hughes had overseen the transfer of Ghovat to a secure holding cell himself. Peter was just about done making his report, and with a quick nod to both Jones and Cruz, he made his way over to the ambulance parked nearby.

The back doors were open, and Neal was sitting propped up against them, while one of the paramedics stood just outside, sticking sterile dressing to his chest with medical tape.

Neal was swinging his legs and smiling giddily as Peter approached, both acts making him look far _far_ too young to be getting treated for a bullet wound.

His smile only widened once he reached him, " _Peter!_ "

He frowned and gave the medic a bemused side look.

She smirked, "He's on the good stuff".

"And _good_ stuff it is" Neal declared seriously, "Really _really_ good stuff. The _best_ stuff".

"I can see that" He replied, biting back a laugh, "You're pretty doped up, huh?"

"Can't even feel my toes" He agreed, before suddenly turning panicked, and reaching out to grab his hand.

" _Peter_. I can't feel my _toes_ ".

"They're still there, bud".

" _Are you sure?_ "

Wide blue eyes searched his worryingly, and Peter got the sudden urge to pull out his phone and video it.

"I'm _sure_ , Neal. Everything's still there, I promise".

He nodded, decisively, "Good. Cause I _need_ those. Very difficult to walk across a phone wire without toes".

"Why would you ever need to walk across a phone wire?"

"To escape a pig" He said, giving him a _look_ , "Obviously".

"Obviously" Peter readily agreed, no longer bothering to hide his grin, "You're in a rather truthful mood. Want to confess to any art thefts before the drugs wear off?"

" _Alleged_ art thefts".

He sighed, "I'll take that as a 'no' then".

* * *

The paramedic finished with the tape and straightened up.

"A few days of bed rest, no heavy lifting, no unnecessary bending, and it should heal up in about ten days" She told him, "The main thing is the risk of infection, but changing the bandages every few hours and applying antiseptic cream should prevent that. Has he got someone to stay with?"

Peter glanced back at the conman, only to find childlike eyes staring back at him imploringly.

_Oh what the hell._

El and Satchmo already loved him.

And the guest room was always made up.

"Yea" He replied, smiling, "He does".

Maybe he could get some more information about those 'alleged' art thefts out of him as well…


	3. 3 - Book of Hours

**3 - Book of Hours**

"I can't believe I'm doing this" Maria said, stepping out of the car, "I spent a long time looking for her".

"I guess it wasn't meant to be" He replied, opening the padded box.

The Book of Hours was inside, and he carefully lifted it with gloved hands.

"It's calfskin vellum… Golden chalice of Paul".

"You satisfied?" She asked, putting her hand in her bag.

" _Very_ ".

He shut the book and pulled out his phone, typing in the pin to transfer the fake money.

"Sending… It's on its way".

"And _here_ it is" She agreed, "Thank you very much".

Her hand slipped back into her handbag and he realised she was going for the weapon.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you".

He carefully closed his hand around the clip in his pocket, before tightening his grip on the Book of Hours.

"You'll never know how much pleasure it _could_ have been".

And suddenly there was a gun pointed directly at his throat.

"You know, I had a feeling all that lovey-dovey stuff last night was BS".

"Next time, you should trust your instincts".

"Oh, I did" Neal replied, pulling the bullets from his pocket, " _Clip_. Lifted it when I patted you down".

She smiled pleasantly, "You forgot about the one in the chamber".

"... Damn it. I've never been a gun guy".

He quickly raised his only bargaining chip in front of him and began walking backwards.

"Give me the book, Neal".

"Sorry. If you're gonna take me on, it's gonna cost you a small fortune".

Both her hands tightened on the gun.

"What's the matter? You can't do it? Is it because of the money or the _history?_ "

"I think you know the answer to that".

"Is that why you killed Paul?"

" _Paul_ decided he wanted the money and the book!"

" _Yea_. That's what happens when you get _greedy!_ "

She fired.

He fell.

* * *

"Drop the gun!"

" _Gun down or we shoot_ ".

"Gun down!"

It was about time that the cavalry showed up.

"Right _now_ , put your gun down! Your hands behind your head".

Lauren walked over to cuff her, while Peter ran over to him.

"Man down. _Man down!_ "

Neal stared at the bullet lodged in the Book of Hours, painfully aware of how close he came to getting shot. He watched as Peter rushed over, clearly panicked, and saw the pure relief that came over him when he realised he was okay. He held out a hand to pull him up, and he gladly took it.

"Cut it a little close there, pal".

"Guess the big guy had your back, huh?"

Peter patted his shoulder, thankfully looking away while he handed the Book of Hours to a _familiar_ man in an FBI windbreaker.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. You made Lauren's day".

Cruz grinned at them.

Ruiz scowled back.

"Yea, _not_ Barelli's".

Turning, Neal internally groaned as he saw the mob boss and his goons make their way over to them. And just when he thought they'd have a clean get away too...

"How did you and your cub scouts find out about this?" Peter demanded, "N.Y.P.D.?"

"I got one of those police scanners. It's a hobby".

Lauren helped Maria into the awaiting police car, "Head down".

Barelli heard her and glanced over.

" _She's_ Paulie's shooter? Some kind of... lover's quarrel?"

"Just business" Peter replied smugly, "I hate to break it to you, but your nephew decided to freelance behind your back".

"Oh, it's _sad_ , you know?" Ruiz added, "If you can't trust family, who _can_ you trust?"

"So if you guys are done, I'd like my Bible back" He said, tapping his watch "Mass starts in one hour".

"Would it kill you to say thank you, huh? _Would it?_ "

Barelli shrugged.

"Yea, I guess it would" He turned to him, "Alright, just give it to him".

Neal quickly feigned confusion, "What?"

"What do you mean _what?_ Give him the Bible".

"I gave it to some FBI guy".

Peter stared.

" _Some FBI guy?!_ "

* * *

By now Mozzie was well gone, and after a thorough search of the yard, neither 'some FBI guy' nor the Book of Hours were found. Barelli didn't waste any time stepping up to him.

"Think you can get over on _me?_ You'll wish you were _never born_ , pal!"

Ruiz took a step closer, as if preparing to intervene, but then smirked and remained in place.

"Yea" Neal replied, faintly, "I seem to be getting this speech a lot lately".

"Why you-"

Before he could so much as blink, Barelli turned, swung back around, and punched him.

"Hey!" Ruiz shouted, the same time Peter jumped forward.

"Just shut _up_ , Barelli!"

Neal slowly blinked, collapsed back against Maria's car, dots swarming in front of his vision and ringing in his ears.

" _No way!_ This ain't over".

Dazed, he brought a hand to his mouth, only for it to come back bloody.

"You alright?" Peter quickly asked, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, "Yea, _yea_ , I… I'm fine".

Ruiz dragged the mob boss away before helping Peter haul him back to his feet.

Once standing, however, he crowded him back against the car.

"Where is it, Caffrey? I'll let _Barelli_ give you a ride home".

"Look, I'm telling you guys I don't _know!_ "

His lip smarted with every word, and he patted his pockets for sometime to dab it with. Peter came to his rescue, as usual, holding out a clean tissue for him to wipe away the blood. He studied him closely as he did so, as if trying to figure out whether Neal was telling the truth or not.

And then it clicked.

" _Ohhh_ " He suddenly said, "I know where it is".

* * *

"Hey, _pally!_ " Barelli snapped, striding up the church aisle to where Steve sat, his dogs head resting on the Book of Hours.

"What are you doing with my Bible?"

"She would've died without it if I…"

The book was grabbed from his hands, and he made a move to stand up.

"Not so fast, wacko. You know who you're messing with?"

Peter sighed, "You've got it, Barelli. Just leave him alone".

" _No!_ I'm not gonna let this go" He shot back, turning, "I-"

The dog licked his fingers.

"Hey" He said, suddenly smiling, "Hey, sweet girl".

Steve petted her, "Her name's Lucy".

"Lucky Lucy" Barelli muttered, crouching down in front of them, "... She don't look good. What's the matter with her?"

"She's been sick, until today".

Barelli glanced back at the FBI agents before slowly standing back up.

"I got this vet in Yonkers. He saved my pugs from diabetes… Wanna take a ride? Go see him? Have her checked out?"

Steve glanced over at them, and Peter nodded.

"Okay".

* * *

They watched them go, before Burke turned and gave him a look.

"I was gonna give it back after-" Neal quickly defended, only to be cut off with a somewhat resigned, "I know".

"How'd you know?"

"... Okay, I _didn't_ know" He admitted, staring to walk, "But I took a leap of faith that- that you'd do the right thing".

Meaning...

"Elizabeth".

"Yea".

At the church door, Barelli handed the priest the Book of Hours, and then crouched down to pet Lucy once more.

"I told you it's a healing Bible" Neal smirked, managing to reopen the wound on his lip.

"Oh, _here_ we go. No way. Barelli's just a softy for dogs!"

"Not enough smiting and lightning for you?"

"That's not a miracle" He said simply, "What would be a _miracle_ , is him apologizing for hitting you".

"Yea, that's not going to happen".

"It's not a parting of the Red Sea".

"I'll take my miracles where I can get them".

A FBI officer made his way into the church, and Peter smirked.

"We have the honors?"

"Yes, sir".

Neal sighed and allowed him to reconnect the tracking anklet around his leg.

"She's back".

"Hey, is that my jacket?" Peter suddenly said, finding the coat where Mozzie had thrown it.

"He works in mysterious ways".

* * *

Later that evening, sitting at the dining room table with bare feet kicked up on a chair, Neal ran a tired hand over his face, blocked out the pounding headache, and sat the bottle down behind the candle.

He took a sip of scotch, and then stilled as lines and circles began to reveal themselves.

"Mozzie, wake up" He said, quickly picking it up, "Moz!"

He looked over at the sleeping man.

" _Mozzie!_ "

" _Let me see your warrant!_ " He demanded, startling awake.

And then he saw Neal.

_"Oh..._ What?"

He grinned, "Come here".

Mozzie stiffly stood and wandered over, freezing when he caught sight of him.

"What happened to you?"

"An Italian mob boss".

"… He hit you?"

Neal sighed and carefully poked at the cut on his lip.

"No, Moz, I walked into a door".

"Dangerous things, doors" He said, sitting down, "You found something?"

He gestured at the writing that had revealed itself on the bottle.

"Lemon juice and a candle".

"... _How_ did I miss this?"

He glanced over at him, "Weren't you ever a Boy Scout?"

" _Oh_ , I got kicked out".

There was a story there.

Mozzie shook his head, "Pinewood derby... Magnets… it was a _whole_ thing-"

He gestured pointlessly and focused his attention back on the goodbye message.

"It's a map" He said, turning back to the bottle.

"Of the New York City subway… What do you think it means?"


	4. 4 - Flip of the Coin

**4 - Flip of the Coin**

"Relax, you're gonna be fine" Neal said, stepping out of the limo as Mozzie opened the door.

Alisha glared at him but readily followed.

"Yea, you have _no_ idea how dangerous Ames can be".

Probably not as dangerous as their last bad guy...

"It's just a game".

"Never let them see you sweat, right?"

They strode confidently towards the museum, Alisha on his left and Agent Cruz on his right. Ahead of them, the glass door revolved, revealing a tall bodyguard and then Ames himself.

"Alisha" He greeted, "You look lovely".

They kissed each other's cheeks, and Neal hoped that he was the only one who saw the minute tremors in her hands.

"This is the gentleman I was telling you about".

"This is my business manager" He introduced, the older man's eyes immediately latching onto Lauren.

" _Charmed_ ".

She gave a fake grin.

"Likewise".

"Come in" He said, leading them through the exhibits, "Enjoy!"

Neal immediately made a beeline for the gold pieces.

"How long have you been collecting antiquities?"

"Years" He replied quickly, moving on, "I also admire the occasional reproduction".

"So, you're familiar with Ptolemaic period, then?"

"I am".

Ames' piercing gaze followed him around the room, "Shame the Greeks put an end to it".

_Oh for-_

"Shame you didn't have a better history teacher".

He couldn't help but quip.

"Soter's reign over Ptolemaic Egypt ended after the death of Cleopatra and the Roman conquest of 30 BC, not the Greek… Or so I've been told".

"Would you like to see the actual pieces, then?" He asked, taking a step closer.

"I think I already have".

* * *

Turning, Neal made a subtle gesture for Lauren to bring the case.

"These aren't reproductions".

"Good eye".

The bodyguard straightened, revealing a holster at his shoulder.

"They've been here all along?" Alisha asked, voice wavering.

_She wasn't holding it together._

"I've always believed the best place to hide something is in plain sight" Ames replied, catching the looks between them, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course".

Neal mentally swore.

" _Smile_ , Alisha. It's almost over".

Their cover was blown. He could see it in their faces, each person looking at the next, realising that they had been found out and and wondering who was going to make the first move.

Cruz sat down, trying to salvage the operation.

"Yes. Can we move this along?"

Ames blinked, shook himself, and then quickly took a step behind his bodyguard.

His bodyguard, who now had a weapon drawn.

Neal held up both hands, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on?"

"Don't play games with me. You're with the FBI".

Lauren grabbed her gun and raised it.

"Technically, I'm just a consultant" He replied, " _She's_ with the FBI".

"Regardless, no need for a fifth wheel".

The coward turned and ran, Alisha looking after him, clearly scared and clearly not knowing what to do.

"Looks like we have a standoff".

"No, we don't" Lauren said simply, "Shoot him. Then I'll have you on murder, too. Go on".

He gave her a betrayed look, which she very easily ignored.

The bodyguard looked between them, unsure what to do.

He kept his gun on Neal but his attention drifted as he tried to figure out who was the bigger threat and if it was really worth going to prison over. For a split second, he focused solely on the FBI agent.

But that split second was all he needed.

* * *

"Ames is on the run" Peter suddenly realised, dropping his headset and shoving open the van doors.

"Jones, you take the front exit" He ordered, hitting the tarmac, "Go, _go!_ You two go with him!"

He ran around the side of the building to where he hoped Ames would choose to leave from.

He was right.

" _You_ -"

He also didn't stop.

"Hey!" Peter snapped, " _Hey_ , don't make me shoot you!"

They made it around the corner of the building, and he immediately had to jump back as the man pulled a weapon.

"Drop the gun!" He yelled, ducking behind a pillar as he pulled out his radio.

"Jones, I need immediate backup".

He heard a car engine start up, a screech of tires, and then a thud.

_What the-_

Slowly looking around the corner, he found Ames on the ground and the limo stopped rather incriminatingly in front of him.

Walking over, he kicked away the man's gun before putting a hand on the roof of the car as Mr Haversham rolled down the window.

"I was never here".

He took a sip of champagne, rolled back up the window, and was gone.

Peter snorted in disbelief and shook his head.

Neal's friend was helpful, he'd give him that, but he was also most _definitely_ an odd one.

* * *

Turning back to Ames, he hauled him to his feet, slapped on handcuffs, and then hauled him back through the museum.

"FBI! Get on the ground!"

Entering the building, he found the rest of the team taking control of the scene in front of him.

"Get on the ground right now!"

The bodyguard dropped the weapon immediately, raising both arms as Jones arrested him.

"Hands on your head!"

Everyone was accounted for then. Good.

Handing Ames off to a nearby agent, he strode into the gallery with a smile on his face.

A smile that immediately fell when he caught sight of Neal on the linoleum floor, blood and glass surrounding him.

* * *

Rushing over, he crouched down next to him as Agent Cruz finished tying the man's jacket around a small wound on the back of his head. The exhibit next to them was smashed, clearly from some struggle, which the younger man obviously lost.

Neal blinked up at him, before grinning cheekily.

"Why is it that every time you go undercover, you land in broken glass?"

"I-"

"And everytime I leave you two together, it ends up with Lauren getting her hands covered in your blood?"

She smirked.

He pouted.

Peter sighed.

"... Alright, what happened?"

"Ames' bodyguard pulled a gun, so I drew my own" Lauren explained, "Prince Charming decided to tackle him thirty seconds before the team got here".

He ran a hand over his face, "Neal?"

"Yes Peter?"

"We've talked about this".

He groaned and tried to roll over to sit up, but the older man easily pinned him in place with a hand on his shoulder.

"How many _times_ do I have to _tell_ you _not_ to tackle _armed suspects?!_ "

Wide blue eyes looked back at him pleadingly.

"He was going to shoot Lauren!"

She snorted, "No he wasn't. He was going to shoot _you_. That's what I told him to do".

"Nice bluff, by the way".

She stared back at him, expressionless.

"... I know you were bluffing" He tried again, "'Cause it's what I would have done".

Cruz gave a non committal shrug, and Neal gave her a wounded look.

"Okay, Lauren? No telling bad guys to shoot our CI" Peter declared, "And Caffrey? Stop jumping armed criminals".

She nodded, studious and by-the-book as ever.

Neal just gave him an evasive grin.

* * *

"I'll make sure the courts know that you helped us out" Peter told Alisha, helping her into the police car.

It hadn't taken long for backup to arrive, and even less time for the team to start packing up the stolen Iraqi artifacts. Waiting until Lauren joined the woman in the jeep, he shut the doors and turned, making his way over to the younger criminal, sitting on the steps of the museum.

"You alright?"

"As alright as I can be" Neal replied, keeping the ice pack pressed against his head.

"Has it stopped bleeding?"

"Thankfully. I'm sick of hospitals… Gonna have one _killer_ of a migraine tomorrow, though".

"Take the day".

He gave him a surprised look, "Seriously?"

"Yea, why not" He took a seat next to him, "You really helped out with this one".

"... You know, there's a new classics section in the New York Art-"

He caught Peter's look and stopped.

"... Bedrest and painkillers?"

"Bedrest and painkillers" He confirmed, smirking.

They watched as the police cars drove away.

"You getting Mitchell out this evening?" Neal asked, and he nodded, "Paperworks already gone through. I'll bring him back with me, to surprise Dana".

"So it's case closed?"

"Case closed".

He gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Looks like you can go home again".


	5. 5 - The Portrait

**5 - The Portrait**

The base of a drawer from one of June's 1920's dressers wasn't the _best_ thing Neal had to paint a portrait on, but he'd worked with less before. Quickly flipping it over, he worked out the size and realised it would have to do. Now he just had to get the right paint, age it in the oven, and have Mozzie provide unnecessary commentary over his shoulder.

Just like old times.

The ringing of his phone startled him, and he frowned as he saw UNKNOWN as the caller ID.

"Who is this?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You seem to have many names, _George_ ".

"Dorsett" He realised, "How did you get this number?"

"You bought my girlfriend a drink with your credit card. I'm impressed with your resourcefulness" He replied, "Now you will see mine. I want the painting".

_Doesn't_ _everybody?_

"If it's not returned, Joshua will pay a visit to your _beautiful_ friend at the gallery".

"You leave her out of this".

"Brigitte was out of bounds, yet you involved her. _You_ set the rules, now you must play by them".

_Fuck_.

"... I need two days" He eventually replied.

"That's all you have".

* * *

"You _stole_ the painting?" Mozzie asked, resigned.

"I was going to give it back to Julianna".

"You're like a child! You have _no_ sense of consequence".

_Hurtful._

"Okay, will you look at the inscription?"

Carefully picking up the painting, he showed the white writing to him.

"Channing Curator said he authenticated the painting _before_ it was stolen" Neal explained, "He _saw_ that it belonged to Julianna and chose to ignore it".

"And you're Robin Hood?" He shot back, "And did I forget to mention the part where _you stole the painting?!_ "

"I didn't think Dorsett would get away!"

"This is because you don't like the guy from the Channing. You did this for spite!"

"I've done things for less".

Neal sighed and turned back to the painting.

"... I can't let him go after Taryn".

"So, what are you gonna do?"

_The only thing he could._

* * *

Neal jogged down the steps of June's mansion and turned to head towards the Burke's house.

He hadn't planned on telling Peter, hadn't planned on _any_ of this really, but he knew when he was beat. And right now, he needed the FBI's help to keep Taryn safe, even if that _did_ mean admitting that he stole a two-million-dollar painting on a whim.

_You have no sense of consequence._

He shook his head.

For a man who lived with his head in conspiracy clouds all the time, Mozzie really _could_ zone in on the hard truths when he wanted to.

Turning down the next block, he could only hope that Peter wouldn't be too mad. He knew he shouldn't have taken the painting and he knew that he was _this_ close to been thrown back into prison, but once he explained why he did it, once he told Peter the story behind the painting, then surely he'd be, well, not _okay_ with, exactly, but not _not_ okay, right?

And besides. The Channing curator stole it first.

* * *

He was half-way there when a large hand reached out from an alleyway and yanked him in.

* * *

Of all things Peter expected late on a Wednesday night to show up at his door, a bloody and bruised conman on a leash was most definitely _not_ one of them.

" _Neal?!_ "

He gave an awkward smile, reopening the cut on his lip.

"Hey Peter".

His voice was rough.

"Any chance I could come in?"

* * *

Ten minutes later and he was sitting at their dining room table, Satchmo at his feet and El holding a damp towel to a bleeding graze on his forehead.

"Joshua?"

"Joshua" He confirmed, "Said his boss wanted to give me a little _message_ , so he followed me, waited until the street was empty, and then…"

"Hang on, he _followed_ you?"

"From June's, yea".

"So you led him to my _home?!_ "

"Oh, give me some credit!" He snapped, "I ran around a few blocks first, made sure to lose him. I know when I'm being tailed".

"Not in this state you don't! What the _hell_ were you thinking?!"

Elizabeth suddenly lowered the bloody towel and turned to her husband.

"Peter, can I talk to you for a moment?"

She dragged him into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

" _What are you doing?_ "

He gave her a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"You're _scolding_ him for _coming to us_ when he needed _help!_ "

"I'm _scolding_ him for potentially _showing a_ _murderer_ where we _live!_ "

She gave him a _look._

"You heard him yourself, Peter, he led that man in a wild goose chase. And _that's_ assuming he was following him to begin with, which, if Neal's right, then he _wasn't_ ".

"He couldn't be sure of that".

"He's scared".

He blinked, then scoffed.

"Neal Caffrey? _Scared?!_ "

El rolled her eyes at him and spun him around.

Neal was exactly where they'd left him, one hand holding the towel to his bleeding forehead, and the other gripping the edge of the chair with just a little more force than necessary. His face was blank, almost worryingly so, and Peter suddenly realised with a pang that he'd never seen the man so still before.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm.

Okay.

Time for a new approach.

* * *

He returned to the dining room, and once the conman saw him, the oh-so-familiar smirk took over. Only now Peter knew it was an act. The Caffrey Charm hiding the truth, as usual.

"... Do you need a hospital?"

"No".

" _Neal_ ".

" _No_ " He repeated, firmly, "I told you, I got out pretty quick. He wasn't trying to kill me, he just wanted me pretty shaken up, and he didn't expect me to fight back".

"Joshua?"

"Joshua".

"But why would Dorsett want to send you a message?"

Neal immediately looked away, almost _guiltily_ , and Peter realised with a sinking heart that this wasn't going to end well.

"This better be good".

He seemed to brace himself.

"... I took the painting".

" _Damn it_ , Neal".

"I wasn't gonna-"

He held up a hand.

"I did it for-"

A pointed finger.

"... We can use it to catch Dorsett" He said instead, "He doesn't know I work for you".

Peter gave him a look, and he shrugged.

"... We'll set it up tomorrow".

He nodded, silently dropping the towel on the table as his head finally stopped bleeding.

"Now get the _hell_ out of my house".

"Okay" He quickly agreed, jumping up, "Good night, Elizabeth".

"Night, Neal".

* * *

Peter took a deep breath and pulled out the case file, flipping it open to reveal the yellow butterfly clipped to the first page. Origami. He should've known.

He _had_ known, on some level.

Elizabeth walked over and wrapped herself around him.

"Well, he, uh, told you the truth about the painting".

It was a hollow victory.

"Because they threatened Taryn".

"It's a _start_ " She said, hugging him.

"... Yea" He admitted, "It's a start".

El kissed the side of his head.

"Do you think it was safe sending him back out? What if that man's waiting for him again?"

"He won't be. That's not how men like them work… And besides, Neal can hold his own".

* * *

The next morning's car ride was half awkward and half tense. Neal had seen Peter and his wife in their _pyjama's_ , after all, but in the same breath he'd admitted to _art theft_ , so he wasn't quite sure where they now stood. He kept glancing over at Peter, hoping to catch his eye and tempt the man into conversation, but so far he'd been unsuccessful. His head ached from where Joshua had shoved him against the wall, his mouth ached from where Joshua had hit him, and his wrist ached from where he'd punched Joshua in return.

All in all, Neal was _not_ having a good morning, and it was all Joshua's fault.

"How tenuous is my probation?" He suddenly asked.

"It's pretty thin" Peter replied evenly, "We need this one".

"It's simple, right?"

"Yea. So _don't_ make it complicated" He warned, "Take Dorsett down quickly".

"I get him, you trust me again?"

He paused for a moment and Neal felt his heart rate increase.

"... Yea, comrade".

He let out a sigh of relief.

"You still gonna verify?"

"Oh yea".

_Of course._

Peter pulled in and Neal quickly unclipped his seatbelt.

"Here we go".

* * *

"I'm surprised you had the guts to come yourself" Neal greeted, glad to see that Joshua looked as bad as he felt after last night, his arm in a cast and a bandage over one cheek.

"It's not bravery" Dorsett replied, "I simply don't trust Joshua with a million-dollar painting. _Especially_ after you broke his arm last night".

"Is it hard to live like that?" He taunted, "Not trusting the people closest to you? And I was just defending myself".

"I suppose" He replied, stepping forward to take the painting, "But I'll take the money".

He unzipped the bag, "You won".

"Yes" He smirked, "But it was a good game. Not for you or Joshua, of course, but for me".

There was a screech of tires, flashing lights, and sudden sirens wailing in front of them.

"FBI! Hands where I can see them!"

Neal grinned and walked away.

It was a game Dorsett was always going to lose.

* * *

"Haustenberg was her _father?_ "

Julianna smiled and nodded, "Yes. She was his illegitimate daughter, but he had a family then, in Hungary. It was before the war".

"... How did the painting end up at the Channing?"

"He willed the painting to my grandmother, but when he died, the museum chose to ignore his will" She explained, "Who cares about the illegitimate daughter of a famous artist?"

"It's not theft when rich men do it".

She gave a sad smile before shifting nervously.

"How do you know the Channing won't try to take it back again?"

"If they do, the curator will have to explain why the museum went against Haustenberg's wishes" He replied, "I don't think he wants that".

Especially not with what Neal wrote on the back of the fake painting.

Julianna nodded again and then stood, making her way over to the painting which once more hung on the wall.

"... Did the men who my uncle owed money to do that to you?"

He rose a hand to gingerly prod at the gauze on his forehead.

"Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. You should see the other guy".

She flashed him a grin, and he was startled to see tears streaking her face. Quickly standing, he made his way over, a question in his eyes. Julianna just shook her head and turned back to her grandmother's painting. Neal simply smiled in return, realising relief when he saw it.

* * *

The painting was back where it belonged, and no one would ever take it away again.


	6. 6 - All In

**6 - All In**

"Do you have the account number?" Meilin asked as they stepped into the elevator.

Neal tapped the side of his head and nodded.

"And you're ready for this?"

He turned off the transmitter in his watch.

"Ready".

As the elevator began to rise, Meilin turned to him.

"I'm gonna give you a new account number to use… One the FBI can't trace. 131278871. Got it?"

He nodded.

"Repeat it to me".

"I _got_ it".

"Relax, Neal. It's almost over".

_Easy for her to say._

* * *

Stepping into the well-lit apartment, he was immediately stopped by two bodyguards who began to pat him down.

Lao saw him and smiled, "I apologize for the scene the other night. As you know, you can never be too careful".

"Oh, I completely understand" He replied easily, "I think you'll find this to be the beginning of a _very_ rewarding relationship for both of us".

"I hope so" He replied, "Meilin speaks very highly of you, Mr Halden".

He gestured at the table and Neal obediently followed, respectfully bowing at the man with the laptop.

"The account number, if you please".

A quick glance at Meilin, and he knew what he had to do. Leaning forward under the pretence of watching the computer screen, he subtly slid two of the Pai Gow pieces off of the table and into his pockets.

"131278871".

The loading bar went up and up and up and-

_Transaction Complete._

"And just like that, we are partners. We'll contact you in two weeks with your money, minus the 10% fee, of course".

"Of course" He nodded.

Lao gave him a suspicious look as he walked away with Meilin.

"All right, I did what you wanted" He muttered, "Now tell me who has Kate".

A USB stick was slipped into his pocket.

"It's all in there".

He studied her carefully.

"Hey, Lao. We never got to finish our game".

The man glanced up, somewhat annoyed but curious, and Meilin gave him a panicked look.

"I'll make it worth your while" He promised, "An extra 10% if you win".

"... Very well" He gestured at the table, "Come. Lose your money".

" _What are you doing?_ " She hissed, and Neal couldn't help but smirk.

"Oh, I already transferred the money from your account" He taunted, "Doesn't matter what happens now, right?"

* * *

"One more hand and I'll have all of your money" Lao said, "Are you certain you want to go again?"

Neal made a show of looking panicked, before pulling off his watch and holding it up.

"Just to keep things interesting… My watch for yours".

He looked unconvinced.

"Come on, Lao. What's life without a little risk?"

"... Why not?"

He quickly pressed the transmitter button, and then gathered up the game pieces.

"You look worried".

He forced himself to remain expressionless.

"Do I?"

Neal picked up his glass, "Yung sing".

"Yung sing".

Laying out his tiles, Lao smirked.

"Some days, the tiles don't fall the way we want".

"Some days they do" He replied simply, "At least I lost my watch to a worthy adversary".

Meilin picked up the watch and studied it, before turning to him.

"It appears luck was not on your side today".

Sliding it onto Lao's wrist, he fought back a smirk, wondering just what the man would do if he found out the truth.

"Yes, luck has indeed deserted you".

Neal frowned, catching something… _odd_ in his tone.

"Not only have you lost your money, but you have also lost your watch".

"Like I said, you were a worthy opponent".

"In more ways than one" Lao replied, " _Mr Caffrey_ ".

* * *

Jones frowned as there was an audible _*click*_ and the mic went dead.

"He cut the signal".

Peter nodded, "What's important is when he turns it back on".

He fought back the worry in his chest and turned to Lauren, "Keep an eye on the bank account".

Ten minutes later, and that anxiety was only increasing.

"Any movement on the account?"

Cruz shook her head, "Nothing".

He checked his watch.

"Come on, Neal".

He hadn't been happy letting the ex-con go back into the field after what he told him about the Interpol agent. The other agency just wanted their money, and he was afraid that they wouldn't hesitate to step on him to do so. Between that, and Meilin's so-called "information" on Kate…

He just hoped that Neal wouldn't end up hurt.

"The signal's back" Jones announced, and Peter quickly turned to him as there was a clacking sound.

"What is that?"

He frowned.

"That sounds like... _dominoes_ ".

Just as he was about to ask what the hell their CI was doing, his voice came over the speakers crystal clear.

"Just to keep things interesting… My watch for yours".

Peter felt a grin slowly coming over his face.

If Lao took the bet, they'd have him.

… He did.

"Good work, Neal" He breathed, turning back to Lauren, "Any change in the account?"

"None" She replied, "But from the way they're talking, it's almost like Lao's already _gotten_ his money".

"Faulty equipment?"

She shook her head, "Nothing wrong with it that I can see… Are you sure you gave Caffrey the right account number?"

"Of course".

"Maybe he just remembered it wrong?"

He scoffed, "The only time Neal remembers something _wrong_ , is when he wants to, on purpose".

* * *

"Peter…" Jones sounded concerned, "You should hear this".

"-indeed deserted you" Lao was saying, "Not only have you lost your money, but you have also lost your watch".

Did he sound… _threatening?_

"Like I said, you were a worthy opponent".

Neal's voice was even, but somewhat tense.

"In more ways than one. _Mr Caffrey_ ".

Jones immediately pulled off his headset, "Do we go in?"

Peter hesitated.

One one hand, Lao wasn't exactly known for being lenient to his enemies.

But on the other… Neal had salvaged similar operations in the past.

"Peter? Do we go in?!"

"... No" He finally replied, "Let's wait awhile, give him time. We don't have what we need yet, and Neal knows it".

Jones remained unconvinced looking, but reluctantly picked back up the headset.

"-knew something was _off_ about you".

"I don't know what you're talking about" Neal replied calmly, "I didn't bring the cops that night".

"So you said".

"I swear it! If I were working for them, then why did I try and escape? Why did I let Meilin bring me to that hotel room?"

"For precisely this _reason!_ " Lao snapped, "Plausible deniability, is it not?"

"Look, I don't know who you've talked to, or what you've heard, but my name is Nick Halden and I don't work for the police".

"You're right, you don't".

Peter let out a sigh of relief.

"But you work for the FBI as _Neal Caffrey_ ".

From behind him, Lauren began suiting up, grabbing her jacket, holster, and weapon.

There was a brief silence over the comms, before a pained grunt, a startled yell, and the sudden sound of a body hitting the floor.

Peter froze, heart pounding in his ears.

"The strange thing is" Lao began, "even though my profits are one hundredfold in business, a victory with the tiles is _supremely_ more satisfying".

"The American had no talent".

That was the voice of one of his bodyguards.

Peter tried not to dwell too much on the past tense of _'had'._

"They rarely do".

"The outstanding parcels have been delivered".

Lao hummed, "And the body?"

_Not Neals not Neals not Neals not-_

"Disposed of, sir".

"Good. A dirty business. It will be a relief to be home".

There was a clinking of tiles, the scrape of a chair, and then-

"What do you want me to do with Caffrey?"

"... Kill him" Lao said, "Bury him with the other agent".

_They had him._

"Alright move in, move in!" Peter ordered, "We have enough to arrest him, so go! Go! Go!"

* * *

Kicking in the door to the bare apartment, they rushed in as one, shouts of "FBI!" "Lower your weapons!" "Hands where we can see them!" echoing throughout the concrete room.

Lao immediately jumped to his feet, his bodyguards drawing their guns, but a warning shot from Agent Cruz had them quickly surrendering, even as their boss made a run for it and Jones put a bullet in his knee.

Peter began reading them their rights automatically, eyes searching around the room frantically trying to find Neal. There was a kitchen island counter across from him, and as the men were arrested one by one and the general ruckus died down, he could hear voices from behind it. Keeping his weapon raised, he cautiously made his way around, steps silent on white tiles.

The first thing he saw, was Meilin kneeling on the cold floor, her hair askew and her cream qipao partly ripped.

The next thing he saw, was Neal.

* * *

Propped up against the kitchen counter, his tie was wrinkled, his suit jacket rumbled, and his shirt collar was drenched in red. The entire left side of his face was covered in blood.

"Jones! Get paramedics up here, now!" He yelled, quickly holstering his weapon and rushing over.

"What happened? _Neal?_ Neal!"

The man groaned but his eyes remained shut.

"Lao knew he was FBI" Meilin explained, "One of his men pistol whipped him and he fell. I dragged him behind here when you kicked the door down".

He reluctantly gave her a grateful nod. As much as he hated the Interpol agent, she _had_ just potentially saved Neal's life.

He ran a hand through the younger man's hair, trying to find the wound. His hands became red and sticky, but he'd already lost three shirts to Neal's injury prone nature before, so what was one more?

"Ambulance is on the way" Lauren reported, walking around the counter to them, "Is he…?"

"Conscious" He said, "But just barely".

She nodded, "I'll check the bathroom for a first aid kit".

"It's behind the mirror!" Meilin called after her.

Peter pressed his hands against the wound, and tried to block out Neal's pained whimper in response.

"How do you always manage to end up in these situations?" He muttered, "At least Lauren wasn't here, this time. You're _twice_ as much trouble when she's around".

"I tried to stop-"

" _Don't_ " He interrupted, refusing to even _look_ at Meilin, "You used him for your own gain".

"And what you're doing is so different?"

"Yes!" He snapped, "I'm not leading him on a- a wild goose chase! I'm trying to help him get over her, to move on, to- to change his life around".

"Once a criminal, always a criminal".

He shook his head, "Not Neal… That's not _Neal_ ".

* * *

"Peter".

He turned as Cruz returned, a red first aid box in her hands.

Meilin quickly moved out of the way for her.

"I'll be in contact. Lao was still our man".

"Lao was and is _our_ arrest" He shot back, "And once I explain to Interpol just how you allowed our undercover man to get sent to _hospital_ … Well. I think they'll be glad to let us have him, don't you?"

She gave him a dirty look, but said no more before storming off.

Lauren gave him a knowing look, _"Allowed,_ boss?"

"... So I may have stretched the truth a little" He admitted, "But it was still negligence, worst case scenario!"

She smiled to herself, and ripped open the gauze patch to press against Neal's head.

"This makes it concussion number three, right?"

"Same amount of times that I caught him".

There was a pained snort.

" _Liar_ ".

They both turned, only to find glassy blue eyes staring back at him.

"How am I lying?" Peter demanded, "I put you in prison, I put you _back_ in prison-"

"Because I let you".

"Because you- I _caught_ you, fair and square!"

"Really?" He smirked tiredly, "Peter, checking the suspect's apartment is, like, step number one. It was hardly a chase".

"Not my fault you didn't run".

He rolled his eyes at him, and then immediately winced.

"What's number three?" He asked.

"Hagen's warehouse".

"Oh, _come on!_ I _led_ you there!"

"Still caught you".

Lauren cleared her throat pointedly.

"Ah, boys? As much as I _love_ hearing you two bicker back and forth all day, he _is_ kind of bleeding out here".

"'M not bleeding out" He groaned, closing his eyes again, "Heads wounds just… bleed a lot".

" _A lot_ a lot" She corrected, "And Jones just texted that the paramedics are outside".

* * *

Helping him to his feet, Peter kept an arm around Neal's waist as he immediately stumbled again, and he saw Cruz do the same on his other side. He was beyond grateful for the elevator, not knowing how he'd have managed to carry the conman down all those flights of stairs, and before too long, there were men and women in white taking him off of them.

Loading him into the back of the ambulance, Neal suddenly reached out and caught his wrist.

"Lao?"

"Jones has him" Peter replied, "That trick with the watch worked".

"Oh yea?" He grinned, lazily, pain meds already making there way through his system.

"Anything good on the radio?"


	7. 7 - Free Fall

**7 - Free Fall**

"Bakery?" Neal asked, fixing his tie as Mozzie held up the small mirror for him.

"Done".

"Construction?"

"Finished".

He nodded, "How's air conditioning in the judge's office?"

"Hm. Broke down this morning".

"All right" He smirked, "Let's go to court".

* * *

Being led through the White Collar division had been… _interesting_. Peter had been good enough to cover the cuffs with his jacket, but given that Neal was still wearing his _own_ jacket, it was no secret what was happening. He hadn't been good enough to _believe_ him, however, and, _yea,_ that hurt.

Neal wasn't used to depending on people, and had even _less_ experience trusting them, so for Peter to genuinely think that he'd stolen that necklace…

Well, he'd just have to prove him wrong.

* * *

"Bailiff, would you open the window?" Judge Hickman asked, waving his hand at his face in an effort to cool down.

"Oh, the heat is stifling in here" He complained, "Unfortunately, the air conditioning is not working today".

The Bailiff lifted open the window and turned back to them.

"Thank you. Please wait outside".

The Judge waited until the man had left before turning to him.

"Per your request, Mr Caffrey, the chambers have been cleared".

Neal smiled and nodded, "Thank you".

"In accordance with that agreement, you're prepared to give a full confession?"

"I am, Your Honor".

_Just not the confession you want._

"I'll admit I've done a lot of things in my life I'm not proud of…"

Neal smirked and reconsidered.

"No. No, that's not true. I'm proud of most of them" He corrected, "But what I'm about to do today… _this_ is gonna be good".

The Judge wiped his brow with a tissue and gestured for him to continue, looking vaguely confused.

"I did _not_ steal the diamond necklace from Le Joyau Precieux".

Silence.

"I cleared these chambers because you claimed to have sensitive information _vital_ to this case" Hickman eventually replied, "If you didn't steal the diamond, then who did?"

He winked.

"I'll let you know".

_Show time._

* * *

Neal leapt through the window, out onto the ledge, and estimated the distance between him and the awning of the bakery. Mozzie had ensured that it was high quality, the same type of tarpaulin used in circuses and trampolines, so it should hold his weight. From ground level, that is. He heard the Bailiff rush into the room behind him, realised he had no time to second guess himself now, and _jumped_.

* * *

"Hey, you" Peter greeted, leaning forward to kiss El on the cheek.

"Oh, hey. You got my message".

"I did. Thank you".

El smiled, sadly, "I wanted you to have a familiar face in there".

"Well, I'll take _yours_ anytime".

Her smile widened and they began walking towards the court house.

"So are you sure Neal did this?"

"... Yea, I am" He reluctantly admitted, "Of course, he says he was framed".

"Maybe he was" El replied, ever the optimist.

"I wish it was true".

Peter frowned as he saw Agent Cruz quickly walk towards them.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hi. So the arraignment's been moved" She explained, straight to the point as always.

"Why?"

"Neal said he's gonna confess".

El sighed, "So I guess you were right".

He barely heard her, brain working overtime on Caffrey breaking his MO for the first time in five years.

"Neal _never_ confesses".

Lauren shrugged, "Important people were gonna be named and he won't do it in open court. So they moved the proceedings".

"Where?"

"Judge's chambers around the corner".

El patted his arm reassuringly, "Honey, I'll call you later, okay?"

He quickly nodded and began to walk, calling back to Cruz, "Get ahold of Hughes!"

She nodded and rushed off, and he did the same.

There was something _wrong_ here, something _off._ Neal never confessed, _ever._ Even when he was in court the last time when Peter found his fingerprints on the forged bonds, even when he had everything stacked against him, even when there was not a single scrap of evidence pointing to anyone else _but_ him… Neal didn't confess.

He stopped a man standing at the corner, "Judge Hickman's office?"

"Fourth floor" He answered, distracted by his phone.

"Thank you".

Turning, Peter took in the orange awning, the words "The Greatest Cake", and the ad "Grand Opening".

_"Bakery"_ He suddenly realised, "The son of a bitch bought that bakery".

* * *

He quickly looked up, frozen to the spot, and-

_Neal._

He was standing at the edge of the window ledge, hair blowing freely in the wind and tie askew. He was also staring at the tarpaulin, a calculating look in his eyes, almost as he was going to-

He jumped.

Peter automatically took a step forward, startled, but then stilled as Neal landed on the awning.

Miraculously, he held until his wait, and he used the buoyancy to propel himself towards the edge, planning on grabbing the metal bar to swing himself around. Which worked. Sort of.

His second landing was not so clean.

Peter watched as the man's fingers slipped from the bar at the last second, causing him to lose his balance and instead of landing perfectly on the concrete pavement below, he landed at an angle, his right leg twisting beneath him awkwardly.

He heard the _snap_ from here.

Neal refused to stop, _couldn't_ stop, there were guards and police officers and bloody OPR agents already rushing to the scene, shoving past Peter to chase the felon as he picked himself up and gave him a 'what can you do' look. He turned, half running half stumbling towards a dark van parked at the side of the road. He threw himself in, headfirst, and thirty seconds later, it took off, dragging the injured conman with it.

Or so they thought.

He couldn't help but grin, shaking his head in disbelief.

"He's not in the van".

* * *

"Get to the city planner's office" Peter ordered, "Find out where these tunnels lead".

"Burke" Fowler snapped, "Caffrey escaped?"

"Yea. He did a four-story swan dive onto that awning of the bakery" He reluctantly answered, "Who approved moving the arraignment?"

"Marshals guaranteed the security".

_Strike One_.

"Never assume anything with Neal" He snapped, "Been working my _ass_ off keeping this kid straight and narrow... He's been helping us win cases until you came".

"Don't put this on me-"

"I'm-"

"Hey, hey, gentlemen!" Hughes interrupted, _"Hey,_ let's focus on the problem here. What do we know?"

Peter reluctantly looked away from the OPR agent.

"We stop the van?"

_Strike Two._

"The only person in the van was the driver. He claims he was hired through an Internet posting. Five hundred bucks to pick up the van, park at this spot".

"Van have floor panel that was removable?" Peter asked.

"How did you know?"

He smirked and shook his head, "Caffrey wasn't in there for more than a few seconds. He's gone underground".

"Can we track his anklet?" Fowler demanded.

"They removed it when we arrested him".

_Strike Three._

Hughes sighed, "Okay. Burke, find him again".

"I'm not comfortable with Agent Burke-"

_Three strikes, you're out._

"I don't care whether you're comfortable or not! Burke knows Caffrey better than anyone. Now get to work".

Fowler bit back the angry remark he clearly wanted to say, and Hughes left, satisfied. Turning back to him, he glared at Peter.

"All right, Burke. What's your plan?"

"Set up road blocks" He taunted, "Put up wanted posters".

Fowler gave him a disbelieving look.

"You know, we're going to find your pet convict, Burke. Witnesses say he busted his leg when he jumped… He can't have gone very far".

* * *

Peter sighed as he finally arrived home after a long day.

"Hey".

"Hey" El answered, "You okay?"

"Still haven't found Neal" He frowned, "We got a detail outside".

"Yea, I saw".

"As if he'd be careless enough to come here…"

Peter suddenly straightened up as he saw the look on his wife's face.

"Where do you think he _did_ go, El?"

She glanced to the side, guiltily.

"Is he in the kitchen?"

"... Yup".

"Neal!" He snapped, and a second later the door opened to reveal his 'pet convict'.

"... Peter".

"All the places you could run, you go to my _wife?!_ "

"Saying it like it's a bad thing" El protested, and he turned to her in disbelief, "You _helped_ him sneak in?!"

"Wouldn't have _had_ to if there weren't people sitting at our house" She complained.

"You lied to the FBI".

"Honey, I did _not_ lie to the FBI" She consoled, "There was just a lot of milk and cookies and pleasant distracting conversation… while Neal slipped around back".

He immediately turned back to the conman.

"I love this. You've turned my wife into an accomplice".

"Give me one minute to explain" He begged.

"... One minute?"

"One minute".

He nodded, slowly, "Explain what you were thinking when you did a free fall from the judge's chambers, while I decide if I drag you back in chains".

"... Does that minute start now?"

" _Go!_ "

"Honey-"

"Let him try and explain his way out of this El-"

"And he can, _after_ he sits down" She explained.

Peter frowned and turned back to him, only now realising the awkward way that he was holding himself.

"... I heard something snap" He said slowly, "When you jumped".

He winced, "Yea… That was, kind of, my ankle?"

Silence.

"Your _what?_ "

He hobbled over to the pillar wall, being sure to stay out of view from the windows but still allowing Peter to see the haphazard white bandages wrapped tightly around his right ankle.

"At least it wasn't the one with the tracker" Neal joked.

"You currently don't have a tracker" He replied faintly.

"Well, yea, but once I'm proven innocent, I can't imagine that the Marshals will let me stay off the leash".

"Innocent?"

"You said you'd let me explain".

"I said you have one minute" Peter corrected, "So start talking".

* * *

"Okay. I told you I was set up by someone very close to you" Neal began, "Couldn't tell because I thought it was somebody in the FBI… Now I'm _positive_ it's Fowler".

"Fowler? That's not-"

"I've got 52 seconds left" He interrupted.

"Had a little free time on my hands the past few days. So I've been putting these together" He handed him a yellow legal pad, "They're documents Fowler shredded after I requested access to my files".

Peter quickly scanned them, slowly realising that it was the conversation he'd had with Neal a few days ago.

"... I made that call from my _home"_ He said, horrified.

"Yep".

"My God, they tapped my _phone"._

"They didn't tap it" He corrected, "That would require a court order. Look at your phone".

Turning, Peter noticed the dismantled landline on the dining room table for the first time, and the very familiar looking listening device sitting on top of it.

"It's a bug. Standard bureau issue. Activates when you pick it up".

"They've been inside my _house"._

Neal nodded, "They couldn't have had authorisation".

"Not within the window of the crime and his suspicion".

"Exactly. Fowler is dirty".

He didn't know what to think. First Kate, then Neal's arrest, and now _this..._

"Peter, I have access to every file the FBI has on me. You had Jones process a request to look at my initials on the bond forgery. After you checked to see if I was telling the truth… one other person checked it too".

"Fowler".

"Then my initials just _happened_ to show up on the pink diamond" Neal shook his head, "He's using you to get to me... My minute's up".

* * *

Peter slowly sank down into a dining room chair and put his head in his hands.

_What the hell was he meant to do now?_

He glanced back over at Neal, who was still hovering awkwardly, trying to balance with most of his weight on his left leg.

"... Sit down".

He gratefully did as told, all but collapsing in a chair with a wince.

Peter stood and dragged his chair closer to him, carefully staying out of sight of the windows just in case, and then picked up the convict's leg and rested it on the old wood.

"What are you doing?"

"Did you have that seen to?" He asked, fetching the first aid kit from the kitchen.

"I'm currently a wanted fugitive" He countered, "What do you think?"

Peter sighed and knelt down next to the chair, helping the man to pull off the stolen shoes.

"Sprained? Twisted?"

"Try broken".

He stopped, paused, and then gave him a resigned look.

"Neal? When you break part of your leg, _you don't continue to run!_ "

"What was I meant to do? Stay and get arrested?!"

"You jumped out of a judge's fourth story office!"

"Yea, because _I'm being set up!_ "

Peter took a deep breath.

"... I can't heal a broken ankle. I can't even _treat_ it properly".

"I'm not asking you to" He replied quietly, "It's only a minor fracture, and I've put ice on it… But I've got to prove my innocence, Peter".

"... Alright" He finally agreed, removing the torn bandages, "Alright, okay, we'll just… I'll wrap this best I can, you disappear to wherever's safe for the night, and then tomorrow… we'll go back to the jewellery store".

"Rule number one is never return to the scene of the crime".

"Well apparently you didn't commit this crime, so that doesn't matter, does it?"

They stared at each other for a moment, before Neal smirked.

"I said I'd give a full confession" He began, "So here it is".


	8. 8 - Hard Sell

**8 - Hard Sell**

"What are you gonna do with your money?"

"Put it in a secure 401K and mutual funds" Neal replied, "It's all about security, bro".

Brad gave him a disbelieving look and he grinned.

"I'm just messing with you man. I'm gonna buy a cruise ship, hollow it out and turn it into a floating mansion".

" _Damn_ ".

"How about you?"

"I'm going to buy an island" Brad said.

"An island?"

"Yea, I'll learn how to play the guitar and just chill".

He gladly accepted a glass of champagne from the waitress.

"You don't need an island for that".

"Don't kill the dream, _broheim_ ".

He forced a laugh as they turned to watch the waitress go.

"I've got dibs on that one".

"Oh yea?" Brad asked, "Does _she_ know that?"

"Since when does that matter?"

The words made him sick to his stomach, but he had a cover to maintain and needed an excuse to disappear for a while.

Brad grinned, "You're gonna be back in time for the celebration, though, right?"

He turned and pulled the fake cigar case from his pocket.

"Wouldn't want this to go to waste".

"Yes!"

* * *

He waited until the man looked away before quickly setting aside his untouched champagne glass, and making his way to the secure vault in the heart of the house. His eyes immediately latched onto the very obvious wooden box on the table in the centre of the room.

"No…"

Surely Avery wasn't _that_ stupid.

He carefully lifted the lid and found the ledger inside.

Apparently he was.

Neal glanced around the edges of the box, finding the two conspicuous blue wires connected to the base of the box. A fail safe insure policy, then.

"Trip wire".

He turned back to the ledger.

"Must be a pressure plate".

He began to feel around the edges of the box. There had to be some sort of kill switch or timer on it, so that Avery could take it out when needed. If he could find that, and activate it, then he should be able to take the ledger and leave without anyone realising what had happened. A quick run down with his sweater over the box would remove his fingerprints, and then it'd be a home run.

" _Neal!_ "

He startled and turned, just as Peter ran into the room, Avery and his partner right behind him.

And Avery had a gun.

* * *

He panicked, looking between Peter, the box, and the door. Avery wouldn't hesitate to shoot, he knew that, and the shotgun that he was using would leave very little chance of survival. He had to protect Peter.

Waiting until the man was just inside the vault, he grabbed the ledger, and _pulled_.

The bullet proof door immediately slid into place, just as the gun went off, saving both him and Peter from the force of the blast. But it wouldn't save them from the air problem.

"Alright, we need to find the kill switch" Peter said, even as Neal pulled the cigar case from his pocket.

"Take this!"

"No, no!" He protested, "We look together, we share the oxygen until Jones comes".

"There's not enough time!" He snapped, "Five minutes for one person, two and a half for two!"

 _"No,_ Neal-"

"We're wasting time! Peter, _I trust you_ ".

He shoved the breathing device into Peter's hands, and thanked whatever deity out there that he took it.

He had El to get back to, after all, and Satchmo. He had a family, a job, a life.

Neal didn't even have Kate.

* * *

Ransacking a room without oxygen was very much a new experience for him, and not one he could say he particularly liked. Shoving the comic boxes out of the way revealed nothing, so he turned his attention to the opposite wall. From the corner of his eye, he could see Avery walk up to the glass. The comics clanged silently against the wall as the last of the oxygen was sucked from the room. But then, _eventually,_ he found the kill switch.

Spinning around, he tried to shout Peter's name, but no sound came out. He banged on the wall with the same result. The man finally turned around just as he began to see black dots swarm in front of his eyes. He pointed in the general direction of the switch, then felt himself sway to the side, before his legs gave out and he fell.

Neal briefly remembered Peter running over to him, and then a hand shaking his shoulder, but he felt tired, _exhausted_ even, and couldn't open his eyes. It was a strange sensation, choking on nothing. He'd almost drowned once or twice before, during cons that had gone bad, but at least then, he had felt the water rushing around him and filling his mouth and nose and-

Now, however, there was just… _nothing._

* * *

Peter quickly turned as he saw Neal move wildly from the corner of his eye, and watched as the man pointed at the small black switch behind him. Then he stumbled, hand dragging along the wall as he sank to the floor and stayed there, eyes closed.

He was suffocating.

Peter ran towards him, hand above the kill switch, but Avery's smirk made him pause. The man stared him straight in the eye, and then raised the shotgun.

_Fuck._

He reached down to try and shake Neal awake, to no avail.

The second he hit the kill switch, the blast proof door would raise, and Avery would be clear to take his shot. Peter could dive behind the desk to protect himself, of course, and he might even be fast enough to avoid getting shot, too. But he wouldn't be able to save Neal. And Avery wasn't too picky about kicking a man when he was down.

Decision made, he spat out the breathing machine, pulled his gun from the holster, and hit the switch.

* * *

The door slid up immediately, and he grasped his weapon with both hands despite knowing it'd do nothing against the force of the shotgun. But he had to try, he couldn't just leave Neal there, and if Avery took a shot then he'd have to shoot back for as long as he could.

"Now drop your weapon!"

Jones.

" _Drop your weapon!_ Hands in the air!"

Peter could have cried with relief as his team came around the corner. Avery slowly, reluctantly, did as told, and Agent Cruz stepped forward to arrest him. Lowering his gun, he quickly crouched down beside Neal who had yet to wake. He held a hand in front of his mouth, checking for breathing.

There was none.

"Alright" He muttered, beginning CPR, "Come on Neal, come on!"

He expected the man to jump up, to gasp for breath and make a clever remark that they could laugh about.

But he didn't.

* * *

" _Come on!_ "

He began chest compression's again, pressing down with the heel of his hands fast and strong, counting as he went. After 30 presses, he lifted up the man's head and leant down to listen for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Peter-"

"Call for an ambulance!" He snapped, not caring who it was as he started resuscitation's again.

Third time around, there was still no response.

"Don't make me kiss you, Neal".

His eyes searched the man's face, hoping for a quick comeback, but he remained silent and pale and far far too still.

Peter leant forwards and pinched his nose before breathing into his mouth twice, before continuing CPR.

_"Peter"._

The voice was closer this time, and distinctly male.

"Peter, you need to-"

" _No!_ " He snapped, performing mouth to mouth again, " _Damn it_ , Neal, _come on!_ "

He knew the side effects of suffocation, could remember it clearly from his training days. After one minute of no oxygen, brain cells began dying. After three minutes, neurons suffer extensive damage and brain damage becomes a high probability. And after five minutes... death.

Peter didn't know how long Neal had been without oxygen for, but he hoped to _god_ that it wasn't longer than three minutes.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder trying to pull him back, "Hey, come on, let it go-"

He snarled and pulled away from the grip, still compressing the lifeless man below him and counting in his head.

"Jones, if you touch me again _I'll break your hand!_ "

He tilted back Neal's head and breathed for him once more.

_"Peter"._

"Jones-"

Neal gasped.

* * *

He immediately turned back and the man began to cough, trying to curl up on himself from the sudden pain of it.

"There you are" He breathed, quickly turning him into the recovery position, " _Breathe_ ".

He panted for breath, hands grasping at his shirt, eyelashes flickering and wet.

"Atta boy" Peter said, grinning.

Neal gave him a weak smirk.

"That was a long five minute".

"Yea".

Behind him, Jones sighed in relief, "I'll fetch the paramedics".

Peter remained focused on the conman in front of him.

"You okay?"

Neal groaned, _"Christ,_ I think you broke a rib".

He gave a startled laugh.

"Yea, well, I'd rather you have a broken rib than _bury_ you, so there".

"Aw, Peter, you _care_ about me!"

"No, I just know El would never forgive me if I got her taste tester killed".

Neal's smirk widened, and then fell as he saw the paramedics rush in with a stretcher.

"I _can_ walk, you know".

"Sure you can, pal" He replied easily, "But now you don't have to".

A woman dressed in white strapped an oxygen mask over his mouth before he could reply, so he grumbled in annoyance instead. Peter smiled and stood, letting the paramedics do their job and load him onto the board.

"Besides" He added, just because he could, "I'm sure a few of the lads want to take pictures".

Neal glared as best he could, even as they gave him a mild sedative and his eyes began to droop.

"I'll meet you at the hospital, okay?" Peter finished, patting his leg as he passed, "Then we can talk".

And they had quite _a lot_ to talk about...


	9. 9 - Bad Judgement

**9 - Bad Judgement**

"Get home safe" Neal said, closing the door behind Elizabeth.

Once she was gone, he collapsed against it and turned back to Mozzie.

"Do you have _any_ idea how we're gonna do this?"

* * *

Half an hour later, and they had amassed two coffee cups, a board game, a model wagon, a pumpkin magnet, and three figurines.

"Okay, Fowler is sending his private courier to pick up the tape at eight-am" Mozzie started, driving the wagon across the board.

"Alright. You got the approach?"

He gave him an affronted look, "Don't I always?"

"The courier truck will pull up to the front entrance and check in" He continued, "When the driver steps out of the truck,I will stall him. This one's me".

"I figured" Neal replied dryly, "How you gonna stall?"

"With my obvious charm, of course".

_Right_.

"Do we have a backup?"

_"Ha._ I scouted the building. There's a security camera blind spot over here" He said, pointed at the board, "So, while I stall-"

"I come out of the blind spot dressed as the same courier" He finished.

"Exactly".

"Alright. Any luck getting your hands on a uniform?"

"It's oddly difficult to find a tailor in the dead of night, but I did the best I could" Mozzie replied, handing him a shirt and jacket.

"... Is this a park ranger uniform?"

"Maybe".

He slapped a logo down on the table.

"... With an iron-on?"

"I couldn't find a thimble" He snarked, "Oh, don't- don't forget this".

"Oh! And a BB gun!"

"Would you prefer a _real_ one?"

"... No".

Mozzie turned back to the board.

"Now, you go into the office as the courier, and pick up the tape. Then you use _this"_ He said, holding up the pumpkin.

"What's the refrigerator magnet supposed to be?"

"A refrigerator magnet".

He gave him a _look._

"But it's actually a high grade degaussing magnet".

"Which will erase the tape" Neal realised.

"Yes. Thoroughly".

"Then you change clothes, hand over the newly blanked tape to the actual courier".

"No one knows I was there".

"And everybody stays out of jail" He finished, and Neal slowly nodded.

"You think this will work?"

Mozzie wisely chose not to comment.

* * *

Neal deftly blended in with the crowd as he waited for Mozzie to distract the courier. The man's 'obvious charm' was probably the most worrisome part of the plan, but he had full faith in the man's abilities, especially when it came to acting.

"You're Ray, right?"

"Yea" the courier replied, "I'm Ray".

"I thought it was you" Mozzie snarked, beginning to walk, "I figured you'd have the face of a _mouth breather_ ".

"Do we have a problem here?" the man asked, forced to walk backwards around the van. It led them directly into the blindspot, and Neal began to make his move.

"You're damn right we do, tiny!" He snapped, "You were supposed to deliver a very sensitive package to me at my house. Instead, you gave it to my _mother!_ "

Mozzie really had all the fun sometimes.

He jogged up the steps of the courthouse and made his way to the pretty blonde at the desk.

"Hey. I'm here to pick up a package from, um, judge Clark?"

"Yes" She smiled, "Just a sec".

Neal glanced at the clock and silently urged her to hurry up.

"This is to be handed to Agent Fowler personally" She said, handing him the envelope.

"Understood".

"Nobody but him can sign for it" She said, taking the clipboard to sign her name, "Clear?"

Neal quickly memorised her signature.

"Thanks" He grinned, "I'll take care of it".

* * *

Waiting until the door was shut behind him, he took out the magnet and began scrubbing the package, hoping that it was strong enough to bite through the cardboard and erase the tape. Shoving his park ranger uniform into the bin, he fixed his suit and then ruffled himself up.

"Hey!" He called as the real courier came into view, "About time you got here. I almost had to deliver this thing myself!"

He slapped it against the man's chest.

"Make sure Agent Fowler receives this personally".

"I will!" He stammered, "Uh, just sign right here, please".

"Give me that" He snapped, pulling the clipboard from the man's grasp. He recalled the blonde's handwriting and did the best forgery he'd done all week.

"I'm sorry for the delay" the man mumbled, gladly taking the signature and package and half-jogging back down the stairs. Outside the window, he saw Mozzie give a subtle nod towards the door. Following his gaze, he found Judge Clark entering the building.

Neal quickly ducked behind a pillar as she passed, almost jumping as his phone rang.

"Peter".

"I spoke with Herrera" He said, "He thinks the judge keeps the cash evidence in her chambers".

And wasn't that just serendipitous?

"Do you know where, exactly?" He asked, watching as the judge handed the blonde the keys to her office.

"Not yet. Meet me in the office".

"I'll take care of it, judge".

Neal smirked, "On my way".

More or less.

* * *

Waiting until Clark left, he silently made his way down the hall to the empty desk in front. There, he found a pen and a hair pin, neither of which were prime lock picking tools, but they'd have to do. The judge was gone for a few minutes, the blonde was at her desk, so now all he had to do was sneak past.

Putting on a front of 'harried assistant', he put one hand in his pocket and strode confidently through the white doors and into the waiting room. As long as she didn't look up, he could walk past. He was in a suit, after all, so it looked like he belonged, so if he could just reach the other side of the room without her asking him anything-

"Hey! Where are you going?"

_Fuck._

Neal slowly came to a stop but didn't turn around.

"... Judge Burke sent me" He said, blurting out the first name he could think of, "He forgot his briefcase here when he met Judge Clark this morning and asked me to retrieve it".

"Well, I'm Judge Clark's assistant, and she _never_ had a meeting with this Burke".

Plan two it was then.

Spinning around, he watched as recognition flashed over her face.

"You-"

"Me" He interrupted, "I couldn't stop thinking about you".

"You- _what?!_ "

He didn't blame her really, it wasn't one of his better excuses.

Walking towards her desk, she stood as if worried what he'd do next. Truth be told, Neal was worried about that too.

"When I came in here and first met you, I just knew that it was love at first sight" He continued, knowing full well that it wouldn't work.

"There's no such thing as- _Wait,_ what about the package?"

"My colleague Ray is delivering it".

Which wasn't a lie.

"When I told him of the angel I had just met, he understood".

"You're crazy!"

"The only thing crazy here is my love for you!" Neal replied, leaning forward over her desk.

"What are you doing? _Get away_ from me!"

"Please tell me you feel the same as I do!" He begged, "I just couldn't go on living if I had to leave you here tonight".

"I'm calling security".

Her hand went for the phone, and he quickly stopped her.

"No! Please! I love you! Let me-"

_*SMACK*_

Neal slowly blinked, head reeling from the force of the blow.

"I'm getting security myself!" She snapped, rushing from the room.

He blinked again.

His cheek was smarting from where she'd slapped him, and there was a ringing in his ears, but she had left her station and that was all he needed.

* * *

Running over to the judge's door, he picked the lock and didn't waste any time in trashing the place. He didn't have very long before Clark would return, and he knew that he had even less time before the blonde would find a security guard, so he had to act fast.

Hearing the sound of raised voices, he dashed back to the door, shutting it behind him and throwing himself down on the couch just as she returned with a burly looking man in white.

"You've returned!" He exclaimed, grinning over-excessively, "I knew you would! You feel it too, don't you?"

"Alright, buddy, time to go" the guard said, hauling him to his feet.

"But I love her!"

"And you can love her far away from here, too" He replied calmly, ushering him towards the door.

Neal put up a token struggle, enough to be acknowledged but not enough for them to think they needed to involve the police.

"I'll never forget you!"

* * *

Being thrown out of a court house was a first. He'd escaped a court house, and walked freely from a court house, and even burned one down. Accidentally, of course. But he'd never been forced out.

Brushing off his suit, he ignored the strange looks of passerby's, and glared at the security guard one last time before making his way down the steps, across the road, and over to where Mozzie sat.

"Court's adjourned" He announced, taking a seat, "Clark should be back any minute now".

"Did you find anything in her chambers?"

"No, but I made it look like someone tried to" He replied, "You good to go?"

"Yep" He said, pulling up his listening device box, "Why is your face red?"

"Don't worry about it".

"Everything went according to plan, right?"

Neal took a deep breath, "... In a sense".

"In a _sense?_ What happened?"

"Peter called. I had to do a little improvising".

Mozzie scowled, "Foiled by the Suit again. You know, this is _exactly_ what I keep telling you, you can't trust-"

"I _know,_ Moz" He placated, "Can we get to work already?"

He rolled his eyes but did as told, setting up the modified equipment and handing him a pair of binoculars.

"Alright" He said, pointing the speaker towards the judge's window, "... She doesn't seem happy".


	10. 10 - Vital Signs

**10 - Vital Signs**

Neal and Mozzie peered around the edge of the corridor corner before quickly jumping back as a janitor appeared. The bin he was pushing was filled to the brim with papers and documents, and they shared a knowing look.

"Looks like a waste of some perfectly good files".

Neal nodded and waited for the man to disappear into another room before making his move.

"Alright, I'm going in".

Mozzie quickly made his way over to the spare janitor's uniform while he ducked into Dr Powell's office.

The room was empty, as expected, and Neal wasted no time in flicking through every paper he could get his hands on to check for the list of names they needed. The desk turned out to be empty, the files on the seat were useless, and even his laptop was pointless, as he didn't have enough time to try and hack the password. It wasn't until he picked up the man's briefcase and flicked it open that he found the papers he needed.

"There we go" Neal muttered, flipping to the next page, "Every donor on here is a major player in this city".

He only had a few minutes to look through the names before a woman's voice came over the speakers.

"Paging security to Dr Powell's office. Paging security to Dr Powell's office".

Andddd _that_ was his cue to go.

Quickly grabbing a pen, Neal wrote a quick message to Peter at the top of the page.

_Jimmy Burger._

It would have to be enough.

Rushing to the fax machine, he quickly slid it in place and thanked whatever deity out there that he'd memorised all of the Burke's contact details long ago. It didn't mean that he was going to tell his boss that he was listed as Neal's emergency contact number, but the information did come in handy from time to time.

* * *

The page had barely started moving before the door was shoved open and two aggressive looking men in white coats burst in.

"Hey, _hey!_ Stop that fax!" one of them ordered, grabbing him by the arm and slamming him against the wall.

"Don't move!"

Neal winced as the page was ripped from the machine.

"I'm borrowing Dr Powell's faze machine" He tried, knowing the lie was pointless.

"Come here!" the man snapped, shoving him towards the nearest seat.

He quickly put up a fight, not liking how the two men looked more like thugs than they did security guards.

"I was just borrowing his machine, _I_ _swear!_ My own one broke and-"

"A likely story. Sit down".

He was tossed at the black chair, but leapt back up immediately.

"Hey, fellas, come on, we all work here-"

"I said _sit down!_ "

He didn't expect the nasty right hook to the jaw.

As a result, it all but flattened him.

Neal staggered backwards, vision temporarily whitening out, head reeling and balance thrown. He collapsed back against the couch and took a few precious seconds to reorientate himself.

They were _definitely_ thugs.

He slowly straightened up as the so-far silent guard tore up the fax, binned in, and then turned back to the ringleader for his next orders.

The shorter man stared at Neal for a moment, and he shot him a charming grin.

"Get the trolly" He glared, "And make it quick".

The taller man nodded once, and left.

Neal sat up and blocked out the throbbing in his jaw. A quick swipe of his tongue revealed all teeth still intact, and asides from a split lip, he was unharmed. Thug Number One had vanished, which was good for him, but Thug Number Two was currently smirking which was very _very_ bad.

"I'm only going to ask you this once" He said, stalking forward, "Who. Are. You?"

"I… I'm here for Dr Westlake. I- I brought in a patient, the nephew of the mayor, actually, very hush hush, in fact if you ask the receptionist, she'll collaborate-"

This time, he did see the punch flying his way.

Unfortunately, he didn't move fast enough to avoid it.

Neal gasped as the man's fist drove right into his stomach, and he jerked forward, automatically bending in two to try and soften the blow.

The guard was having none of it, and grabbed a fistful of hair to force him to straighten up again. Neal had barely caught his breath before another slap was delivered, this one managing to skin his cheek as the man's ring was slammed into him.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

He choked and spluttered and tried not to collapse.

"I'd _really_ rather not".

The thug yanked his head back and Neal felt hot blood trickle down his face.

"I won't ask a second time, kid. Who _the hell_ are you?"

"... Well, you know, that's actually _twice_ now that you asked, so-"

He was _definitely_ expecting the next punch.

The man managed to grab his doctor's coat and yank it down, effectively trapping his arms behind his back as he lay hit after hit after hit. By the time Neal managed to detangle himself, both his head and chest were aching and it hurt to breathe. Hel gasped for air that just wasn't coming, and could have cried in relief as he heard footsteps coming back down the hall. The idea was for Mozzie to get himself out as quickly as possible and then for Neal to follow, but he'd diverted from plans before, so maybe he had _this_ time too and had realised what was happening and _rushed_ back to _save him_ and-

The door was pushed open as Thug Number One arrived, pulling a gurney in after him.

Neal closed his eyes and _prayed to_ _god_ that Peter had gotten the fax on time.

* * *

The shorter man smirked, delivered one final slap that sent him sprawling on his side on the couch, before making his way over to the desk. Picking up the phone, he hit a few buttons, and waited to speak.

"... It's me".

Neal could just about hear the man on the other end of the line, even as the taller of the two hefted him up and dropped him unceremoniously on the trolly.

"Why are you calling?"

He tried to roll off the other side, but his head was spinning and he wasn't quick enough.

"We have a problem".

Two strong arms pinned him in place and before he knew it, his wrists were handcuffed to the metal bars on either side of the gurney.

"What kind of problem?"

Thug Number Two raised his eyes and scowled at Neal.

"An intruder. Some kid broke into the hospital. He was in your office".

"Who is he?"

"He won't say. But he has some kind of tracker on his ankle" He explained, "And he was going through your files".

The other guard finished securing his ankles, and double checked the locks on his arms.

"We figured you'd want to know before we involved the authorities".

Neal snorted.

 _Yea right._ And have to explain to the authorities how his face got bruised up? _He didn't think so._

"He's probably one of Westlake's patients escaped from the third floor. I'm on my way. Hold him until I arrive".

Neal subtly rattled the cuff around his right wrist to see if he could get some leeway.

"It would be best if you calm him down".

_Oh boy._

"Understood".

_He didn't like the sound of that._

Thug Number One went back to the door and disappeared for a moment, before returning with a mean looking nurse who was-

Who was holding an _insanely massive injection._

Thug Number Two grinned.

Neal gulped.

"This is to help you relax" She said, jabbing the needle into his elbow.

Neal groaned and tried to block out the pain thrumming through his entire body.

"I hope there's something fun in there, Nurse Ratched".

Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing, before glancing down at his arm as his thoughts began to get fuzzy.

_Just what the hell had she given him?_

* * *

Peter strode into the hospital reception area, furious at Neal, terrified of his wife, and so very much incredibly annoyed that everyone was against him today.

Mostly at Neal, though.

"Can I help you?" the woman behind the desk asked as he glanced around.

"Yea, uh- Oh, there she is. Melissa!"

Perfect timing.

"Dr Tannenbaum" She said, surprisef, "You're early".

"I couldn't wait to see you".

_Think of El, think of El, think of El._

"Well, I'm flattered" She replied, coming down the stairs to meet him half way, "But this _really_ isn't a good time. If you don't mind waiting until this evening?"

"I couldn't wait".

He'd already said that. _Damnit_.

Thankfully, the sound of a phone ringing distracted her.

"Excuse me, hello?"

Perfect timing, again.

Peter quickly ducked behind her and made his way up the stairs behind two people in lab coats. Leaving them at the top of the steps, he silently crept down the hallway.

* * *

"Neal? _Neal?_ "

The room was empty.

"Two lovers kissed, and the world stood still".

What the…

"Still. _Still!_ "

He continued down the hall.

STILL! _Still_ ".

Was that… _Neal?_

"That was nature's way!"

Peter quickly ducked into what looked to be a doctor's office, as well as the source of the singing.

In the centre of the room, tied down to a trolly, was a bruised and bloody Neal.

" _Oh my god_ ".

* * *

"HIGH on a…"

Peter took a cautious step forward.

"What did they do to you?"

"Hey buddy!"

"Neal" He greeted slowly, letting the door shut.

"Hi!"

"Hey".

He quickly walked over and gently tilted Neal's head to get a better look at the injuries.

"HIGH-"

"Hey, shh!" Peter interrupted, "Shh, _shh!_ "

Glancing down, he saw that the cuffs were locked.

"Alright, we have to get you out of these restraints".

"Oh, you mean these?" Neal asked, lifting his hands, " _Whaaat?_ "

The restraints fell off.

"I never met a lock I couldn't pick… Except my anklet".

_Thank god for small mercies._

"Alright, come on" Peter said, throwing his arm over his shoulders.

"I don't know what it is abo- you're strong".

"Yea" He replied, wishing he could film this but also wishing that this wasn't an illegal organ harvesting hosptial so that someone could tell him if the conman's cheekbone was broken.

"You're _strong_ " He repeated.

_Oh boy._

Steadying him, Peter swung the man's legs over the side of the bed.

"One-"

"Oh I got it!" Neal interrupted, "I got it".

"Yea, come on".

He steadied himself.

"I _got_ it!"

Then fell flat on his face.

… This was going to be a long day.

* * *

A few minutes later and Peter was half carrying half dragging Neal down the hallway as he started to sing again.

"Shh, shh, _shh!_ " He shushed, pushing open the door to a conference room. The second he let go, the younger man hit the carpet once more.

" _Easy_ , come on".

Once he was sitting upright and Peter forcibly blocked out the sight of blood on that strange bluey-grey floor, he frowned at him.

"I cannot _believe_ you. Why would you _do_ something like this?!"

"Peter, I've done _sooo_ many worse things that you don't even know about".

"Just shut up!" He panted, before suddenly reconsidering, "Like what things?"

Neal stared up at him with a bruised eye, bloody cheeks, and a busted lip and _grinned_.

"You remember the Antioch Manuscripts?"

"You _took_ those?" He asked in disbelief, " _How?!_ "

"Carrier pigeons".

Peter sighed.

"Think about it" He said, tapping the side of his head, before wincing as he touched a particularly vicious looking bruise.

"Who _cares_ , Peter?" Neal continued, "It's not what's important. It's not about _money_ , it's about _people_ ".

"Good" He snarked, "You're gonna be spending _a lot_ of quality time with people in orange jumpsuits once I get you out of here".

His face fell, "Alright... I'm going down once they see those security tapes of me breaking in here".

Peter mentally cursed and looked away.

"There's _surveillance cameras?_ "

He turned back as the conman tapped his leg.

"Hey, before I go back, you should know this. Out of all the people in my life, Mozzie, even _Kate_ , you know… _you're_ the only one".

The drugs were talking again.

"I'm the only one what?"

"You're the only _one_ " He repeated, "The only person in my life I _trust_ ".

And what a fucking time for _that_ particular revelation.

* * *

Peter stared at him for a minute, taking in the split lip and the dried blood and the black and blue blemishes that already marred that _terribly_ young face.

Neal seemed surprised at himself for what he'd just said, and let his head hang low to avoid Peter's gaze, acting for all the world like a scared child.

Fuck.

Was he _really_ going to let this happen?

Was he really going to send this- this _kid_ back to prison? For trying to _help_ him? Yea, the way he went about it was wrong, and Neal had broken more laws that he would ever know of, he'd literally _just_ admitted it himself, but…

But his heart was in the right place.

It always had been.

Peter reached up, ran a hand through those dark curls and sighed.

 _Fuck_.

He couldn't let this happen.

* * *

Neal zoned in and out of reality as time itself eluded him.

He remembered breaking into the hospital with Mozzie, finding his way to Dr Powell's office, and then trying to send something to… Peter? But that made no sense because Peter was here. Or, at least, he _was_. _Used_ to be. _Had_ been. Whatever.

The point was, he remembered singing and something about restraints and then stumbling through glass hallways in a terrifying tall building and _then-_

Then he found himself sitting on weird bluish coloured carpet in a conference room who's table probably cost more than his _rent_ for an entire _year_. He'd said something to Peter, and it was _definitely_ Peter and not some strange hallucation like how he'd envisioned Andy Williams which had led to the singing to begin with and-

He'd always liked that song.

Neal sluggishly looked up as Peter suddenly reappeared with a pair of handcuffs in his hands and a wheely chair at his feet. He tied his left arm to the metal legs of the seat and gave him a stern look.

" _Don't_ pick this!"

Neal nodded and collapsed to the side, resting on his other arm.

He wanted to sing again, but Peter had shushed him before so maybe he shouldn't.

He also wanted some water cause whatever Nurse Ratched had given him was _seriously_ making his mouth dry.

Or maybe that was also because of the singing.

Either way, there was singing involved and these handcuffs were preventing that.

Neal slowly straightened up, leaning back against the wooden cabinets, and stared down at the cuffs.

"I could slip you off, that wouldn't be picking, but..."

But Peter wouldn't see it that way.

He sighed, and his skin prickled uncomfortably with dried blood. First thing he needed to do was get water, but secondly, he needed a shower. Or maybe he'd just combine both and drink the shower water. _Can_ you drink shower water? He didn't know, but he wanted to find out. He quite liked showers. _Loved_ them, even. And, hey, speaking of love...

"Love is a many splendored thing…"

He turned as the door opened once more and Peter came back in. He crouched down next to him and held up a black box.

"What is that?"

"Surveillance tape".

He couldn't believe it.

" _Peter?_ "

The older man undid his cuffs and pulled him to his feet.

"Let's go".

"You _stole_ that... for _me?_ "

"Yea, it's a regular Kodak moment".

Neal didn't know what Kodak was, and from the corner of his eye he saw Andy Williams shake his head too, but it didn't matter because Peter had taken care of it.

_Peter had made sure he wouldn't go back to prison._

He really did trust him.


	11. 11 - Home Invasion

**11 - Home Invasion**

"You look a little different in your profile picture" Pierce said, already backing off.

Neal gave her his signature grin.

"Pleasantly surprised?"

"No".

_Ouch_.

"Stay" He said quickly, "Stay, for just one drink. Promise you, it's worth it... I'll have Ketel One on the rocks, please. Thanks".

"Who are you?"

"I'm the guy who set you up" He smirked, "The FBI was sitting on Christopher Grey's house 'cause I tipped them off".

"And why would you do a stupid thing like that?"

Neal pulled the picture of the jade elephants from his pocket and showed it to her.

"So I could get to these first".

"You got Daniel Picah's" She realised, "How did you get to it so quickly?"

He couldn't help but smirk at the irony.

"Dan just needed a friend".

"I take it you don't _approve_ of my methods".

"I think... there are smarter ways of getting what you want".

"Well, it's different for a man" Pierce replied,"You should be _grateful_ for that luxury. I, uh, have to work with what I've got".

He shrugged, "Slightly jaded perspective. Excuse the pun".

"I don't think so. I've _a lot_ to work with".

Neal paused and considered his options. On one hand, it _did_ sound like she was flirting with him and that could be an easy way in. On the other hand, the men she flirted with usually ended up robbed and occasionally _dead_.

Maybe he should just stick to business.

"You do have something I want".

"And how do you propose we solve _that?_ " She smirked.

"Team up. I've got two, you've got three" He explained, "Separate, worth about two million. That's not bad. But together, they're worth about two hundred million, which, if you're bad at math, is _significantly_ higher".

Her charm immediately fell one she realised he wasn't falling for it.

"I prefer to work alone".

Turning to leave, he waited until she was nearing the door before calling out.

"Then enjoy your two million!"

Silence.

Neal pushed a glass down the side of the bar.

After a nerve wrecking moment, she caught it.

"So you are good at math".

"You underestimate me".

_Perfect_.

"Miss me Caffrey?"

_Or not._

Neal immediately panicked, heart racing and palms sweating and he'd broken into Buckingham goddamn Palace more calmly than this.

"What're you doing here, Alex?"

She was going to blow the deal.

"I don't see you for five years and within minutes of waltzing back into my life I've got the _FBI_ checking up on me?"

Pierce immediately stood, "This is another setup".

"No, it's not-"

"It stinks when somebody messes with your job, doesn't it?" Alex snapped, "FBI ran my prints. That's bad for my business".

Neal quickly jumped up to follow Pierce, "It's not what you _think_ , Alex!"

* * *

Dashing through the staff kitchen, Neal thanked whatever deity out there that he was able to catch up to her, jogging across the street to meet her on the other side.

"Not much of an escape route".

"I'm good on my feet".

He quickly grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I want the Jade. You're not going _anywhere_ without me".

"It's just like a man to think he knows everything" Pierce sneered, before suddenly-

"HELP!"

Neal held her tighter, "Woah, woah, woah!"

"PLEASE! HE'S _ATTACKING_ ME! HELP, HE'S ATTACKING ME! _HELP!_ "

Struggling with her, he caught sight of three large construction workers making their way across the street.

_Oh shit._

"Get your hands off her!"

_That little bitch._

"You're very clever".

"I work with what I've got".

Pierce yanked herself from his grip just as the men grabbed him.

" _HEY!_ "

"I think there's been a misunderstanding here, guys. She's crazy!" He tried to defend, as one man took his hat, another pinned his hands behind his back, and the other rose a fist to hit him with.

_Any moment now Peter…_

"You got a problem?!"

He prepared to strike.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ -"

_*SMACK*_

Neal stumbled back from the force of the blow, only the other man's punishing grip on his arms keeping him upright.

The next punch split his lip.

The one after was aimed at his ribs.

_Where the hell are you Peter?!_

* * *

"You think you can just attack a girl like that?"

Another strike caused his vision to white out for a moment, and he felt himself going limp in the man's hold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Another strike caused his vision to white out for a moment, and he felt himself going limp in the man's hold.

Neal blearily blinked, trying to find some way out of this entire disaster. He couldn't convince the men otherwise, and he didn't exactly have an FBI badge on him in case Pierce had found it and blown the deal. Not that it was _going_ to plan anyway.

The next blow had him doubling over in two, all breath pushed from his body in one fell swoop. Tears sprang to his eyes from the force of it, and gasped uselessly for air.

"You need to be taught a lesson, pal".

_Hadn't he learnt enough already?_

In the back of his mind, he heard a little voice telling him "Lesson One: Don't trust the FBI".

That voice sounded _suspiciously_ like Mozzie.

Another punch cut open his cheek and he knew that he'd have a black eye by tomorrow.

"You won't be messing around with any girl after this-"

"FBI! LET HIM GO! Let him go".

Neal could have sobbed in relief.

"He was attacking a woman, but-"

"Alright, alright, I'll take it from here" Peter interrupted, and the men reluctantly released him.

He wanted to make a quip, thank them, perhaps, for their _spiffing_ hospitality, but all he could do was groan and stagger back against the glass window of the building behind him.

"Lauren, got Neal. Pierce disappeared into the crowd" Peter continued, speaking into the mobile.

Turning back to him, he gestured down the street, "You see where she went?"

Neal groaned and held up a hand for the man to give him a minute.

A few seconds later, he threw up a very expensive Ketel One on the rocks, burnt coloured liquid mixed with his own blood.

He distantly wondered if that was from his split lip or something far more serious.

"No, I was a little preoccupied with the guys closing into _kill_ me" He gasped, "Cutting it a little _close_ there, huh?"

"Yea, we weren't expecting your girlfriend to show up".

Neal frowned and gave him a questioning look.

"I know about Alex".

_Fuck_.

* * *

A few minutes later, and Peter was storming back to his car, Neal half stumbling behind him.

"She disappeared again. What the _hell_ happened back there, Neal?" He demanded, "What was your fence doing walking right through the middle of our operation?"

Oh right, like _that_ was the issue.

"What were _you_ doing pulling her prints? I welcome you into my _home_ , and you run a file on my _friend?_ "

He paused for a moment to spit out the blood that had welled up in his mouth.

"You can't trust me. After _everything_ ".

"You tell me. I know you're looking for the music box".

_Was anything going to go right for him today?_

"Maybe you're looking to pawn the Jade too. You let Pierce walk because you're playing your own angle?"

This was unbelievable.

"There were _three_ of them, Peter!"

" _You shouldn't have let her go!_ "

He fought back tears and told himself that it was pain causing them and not his most trusted friend's betrayal.

"Okay, you know what, you think what you want to think, I'm walking from here".

He put one foot in front of the other and forced himself not to trip.

"Where you going?"

"Home! Something _you_ don't have right now".

It was a low blow.

He was too annoyed to care.

"You don't trust me, you can check my anklet!"

" _I will!_ "

" _Do it!_ " He snapped, unwilling to not have the last word.

Peter glared at him and got into the car.

Neal concentrated on _not_ falling flat on his face, and consoled himself with the thought of an ice pack and a hot shower when he got home.

_If_ he got home.

If Peter didn't get a call out to find his body in an alleyway tomorrow.

_Fuck_.

Neal ran an exhausted hand over his face, wincing as it pulled at half healed cuts and prodded even more painful bruises.

His anger had been justified, Peter had _no right_ to accuse him of all of that… but at the same time, he _could_ see how it looked from the man's point of view.

So, he wasn't going to apologise, but _maybe_ he'd bring in an extra cup of June's italian roast coffee tomorrow morning.

_If_ he lived until tomorrow morning.

Sighing, he told himself to stop being so dramatic, and resigned himself to a _long_ walk home.


	12. 12 - Bottlenecked

**12 - Bottlenecked**

Neal glanced at his phone as it buzzed and Peter's name flashed up on screen.

Answering it, he kept his voice low so as to not get kicked out of the auction.

"Did you get him?"

"He's not here".

Neal mentally swore.

"Security cameras have him fleeing the scene. He hotwired another car two minutes before we cordoned off the building".

"So you have no idea where he is?"

"We're pulling surveillance on him now with traffic cams" Peter continued, "Putting together a couldn't have gotten far. Didn't take his things with him".

"His _things?_ " Neal asked sharply.

"Yea. He had a laptop. He'd been monitoring the auction".

That gave him an idea...

"He's not watching the auction anymore?"

"Probably not. Too concerned with getting out of here".

_Perfect_.

"Alright. Find out where he's headed".

Neal hung up.

"The bidding is now $800,000 to the gentleman on my right" the auctioneer announced.

He quickly told Mozzie the plan.

* * *

"This is a lousy idea".

"Do it, Mozz".

"These people don't take IOUs" He complained.

"Fair warning. I can sell for $800,000".

" _Do it!_ " He snapped.

Mozzie reluctantly stood.

"One million dollars!"

The crowd gasped and turned around, and Neal grinned.

"Thank you, sir. One million dollars and… _sold_ ".

"What did you get us into?"

Neal ignored him, jumping up and heading for the stairs as soon as the crowd turned their backs to him. Pulling out his phone, he quickly hit redial.

"Peter, where are you?"

"Still in the garage" He asked, "What happened?"

"Won the bid".

" _What?_ "

His smirk fell.

"Don't worry. I got a plan".

"You usually do".

_Where was the trust?_

"What's the status on Keller?"

"Headquarters is monitoring his movements in real-time from traffic cams" Peter answered, "Looks like he's headed south on Park".

"South on Park. Thanks".

Neal hung up and turned back to Mozzie.

"I know where Keller's going".

He gave him a worried look, but with a clap on the shoulder, he was gone.

* * *

Neal knew _exactly_ where Keller was headed because it was the same thing _he'd_ do if the Russian mob were hot on his heels. He told the taxi where to go, flung an extra twenty at him when he got a weird look in response, and then not-very-gracefully ran across the helipad to await his sort-of arch-nemesis.

He didn't disappoint.

" _Bravo_ , Keller" Neal applauded as the helicopter landed, "Seriously. _Wow_ ".

"So you came by to see me off, huh, Caffrey?"

They both came to a stop a safe distance apart.

"Who knew you were a gracious loser?"

"I have to admit, using the real Ben Franklin bottle, did _not_ see that coming" Neal continued, biding his time, "Stroke of genius, really".

"That actually means a lot coming from you".

That was strangely… _nice_.

"Only wish Kate was around to see it".

_Or not_.

"We both know she always loved a winner. Who knows? Maybe I'll look her up, see if she still does".

Neal clenched his jaw to stop himself from reacting, and after a moment, Keller realised he'd get nothing in response.

"So, I'm curious. How'd you find me?"

"Checked Sergei's travel plans" He explained, "See he does it in style".

Keller hummed in agreement.

"I also hear he doesn't take it lightly when someone owes him money".

" _Owed_ " He corrected, "As in past tense".

He pretended to be surprised.

"Yea, you see, our, uh, little _go-around_ with the bottle cleared my debts. In fact, I just got a text from my broker. Bottle went for _seven figures_ ".

" _Wow_. Wow, congratulations, man".

"Thank you".

"So it was a two birds, one stone thing" Neal continued, "Humiliate me, turn a hefty profit while you're at it?"

He was standing too close.

"See? Now you're catching on, Neal".

Keller turned to walk past him.

"Listen, I'd love to chat, buddy. But unless you got anything else, I should get going. Be good!"

* * *

He waited until there was a decent distance between them before speaking.

"I haven't made my offer yet".

He paused and glanced at his watch.

"... This should be good".

"I'd like to offer you the opportunity to make a full confession for your crimes. The robbery of the Natural History Museum, the murder of Manuel Campos… anything else you wanna add-in?"

"You know what? I was wrong" He stepped closer once more, "This isn't _good_. This is _sad_ , man. This is a moment I'll cherish. Seeing _you_ at your most _desperate_ ".

Neal couldn't help but smirk as he heard familiar FBI-issue Lincolns pull up behind him.

"The winner of the Franklin bottle… it wouldn't happen to be bidder number 57, would it?"

"... Why?"

He grinned.

"Now, this is just awkward, but I don't _have_ a million dollars".

Neal could pinpoint the exact moment Keller realised what he'd done.

"The auction house said they'd give me a week to put the money together".

"A week, huh?" He replied, trying to save face, "You know what? A week's not that long. I can buy that".

Peter appeared at his side, just in time.

"Did you tell him I'm launching a federal investigation on the bottle?"

"Oh _yea_ , yea. There's that too. How long can a federal investigation go on for?"

"Not sure. Years".

"Oh, _years?_ Wow".

"Son of a bitch" Keller muttered, glancing back at the helicopter.

"How patient are Sergei and your Russian friends?"

Peter smirked, "You can take a helicopter ride and find out. Or you can come with us. Your choice".

"... Well played" He finally replied, dropping the bag at his feet.

"Good game, Keller".

"The game ain't over".

Before Neal could so much as _blink_ , there was a fist coming at his head, and despite the number of times he'd been in this situation, he still didn't react fast enough. The blow landed on its intended target, and he heard a sickening _crack_ as blood burst from his nose. Neal stumbled backwards from the punch, only Lauren's quick thinking stopping him from collapsing completely, as she grabbed his arm and kept him upright.

"Help the _gentleman_ into the car" Peter snapped, and two FBI windbreakers stepped forward.

Neal blinked, dazed and in pain and finding it suddenly hard to breathe.

"I mean, you were locked up, broke out" Keller continued, even as his hands were cuffed, "Maybe it's _my_ turn to accept a challenge. Best two out of three?"

The handcuffs clicked into place with finality.

"I'll see you around, Caffrey".

Neal shrugged off Agent Cruz's grip, ignored Peter's worried gaze and the blood dripping into his mouth, and leaned forward so only Keller could hear him.

" _I'm counting the days_ ".

* * *

As soon as he was led out of sight, Neal gratefully accepted Lauren's steadying hold once more as he allowed himself to feel the pain.

" _Fuck_ ".

"You okay?"

He gave Peter a dark look and gingerly reached up to prod at his face.

"Bastard _broke_ my _nose_ ".

"I'll drive you to A&E, come on".

"No, no, you've got to… _process_ him, or whatever".

"Neal, you're _bleeding_ on your _Belstaff_ ".

"Good to know my fashion lessons have been paying off".

" _Neal_ ".

He sighed, immediately winced, and shook off Cruz's hand.

"I'm _fine_ , Peter, Mozzie will be here any minute; he can take me".

"I thought Haversham hated hospitals?"

"He'll get over it".

Peter hummed non-committedly and nodded at Lauren to head back towards the car. In front of them, the helicopter blades started whirring again.

"Poor Sergei's going home empty-handed".

"And so will _you_ , if you don't get over there" Neal replied, "Keller doesn't do handcuffs for very long".

"Hmm. Much like someone else I know".

He glared but got a smirk in response.

Peter gave him a comforting pat on the back.

"Make sure you get checked out. I'll drop into June's this evening".

" _Peter_ -"

"No arguments" He interrupted, "And, oh look, here's the little guy, right on time. I'll see you tonight".

* * *

Mozzie neatly sidestepped the agent as he returned to the car, and then let out a low whistle when he saw Neal's nose.

"I take it I missed Keller?"

He nodded, once, the pain in his head increasing.

" _Damn_. I wanted to see him do the perp walk".

"Sorry" He replied, "Good news is he won't be bothering us for a while".

"How long is a while?"

"Maybe long enough to finish our chess game".

"You think they have a prison that can hold him?"

Neal shrugged, "I don't know".

"Okay, so, what's the bad news?" Mozzie asked, "Asides from your face, I mean".

He gave him a dirty look, "You won't be drinking a million-dollar bottle of wine tonight".

"I'll live. Like you, I hope".

Neal turned back to the water and tried to ignore the prickly sensation of cooling blood.

"... You were right. I could use one less mystery in my life".

"Oh, I rescind that comment. There's suddenly been _a lot_ of chatter about the music box".

Neal blinked and looked at him.

"You need to talk to Alex".

He shook his head, "She won't tell me anything while I work for the FBI".

"Then... make it worth her while" Mozzie said simply, " _After_ I bring you to an old friend of mine, because I don't trust doctors and the _hospital_ is out of the question and did you _hear_ about that case in Albany where-"


	13. 13 - Front Man

**13 - Front Man**

"Neal, you copy?" Peter asked, " _Neal?_ "

He picked up the radio.

"Tell me you found Lindsey".

"We're gonna need more time".

Neal grimaced, "It's _four_ , Peter. I'm already here".

"Then stall" He ordered, "He gets his hands on the case, the girl's _dead_ ".

A silver transit van pulled up in front of him, and Neal frantically thought about what he could do. The briefcase was on the seat next to him, and it was his only bargaining chip. If he handed it over, Lindsey would be killed, but likewise, if he _didn't_ give it to Wilkes, then he could use the girl as leverage over _him_.

He had to act fast.

Wilkes climbed out of the van and blew the horn as Neal quickly rearranged the briefcase.

* * *

"Right on time. I love that".

"Where's the girl?" He asked, stalling.

"Unfortunately, I won't be sharing that information with you".

"We had a _deal_ , Wilkes".

"I lied" He said simply, "Give it to me".

Neal tossed him the silver briefcase and hoped beyond hope that his plan would work.

Setting it down on the ground, Wilkes opened it and-

No gold cards.

 _Perfect_.

"And I thought we had a nice thing going on".

"You lied, I lied" He replied, smirking, "It's like a dance".

Wilkes pulled a gun.

_That wasn't part of the plan._

"You pull that trigger, and all those gold cards I just stole from Edward Reilly are gone forever".

"I don't have those cards in my hand in 10 seconds, I'm gonna make a call, and I'm gonna kill the girl!"

Neal swallowed thickly.

"Then I'm gonna take my time with _you_. Five seconds".

 _Shit_.

"Three seconds".

 _Think_.

"Now my guys are gonna have to kill that nice man's daughter".

"Who says they're still your guys?" He blurted.

"Is _that_ your play?"

Wilkes lowered the phone.

"You turned my crew against me? I expected more from you".

"Who do you think has the gold cards?"

"You left them with my guys… You're not that dumb".

Neal thought, _fast_.

If he could keep him busy for just another few minutes…

"You brought me into this because I bring up the average" He said, "Unfortunately, that makes _you_ less valuable. Your men agreed; time for new management".

"You're lying".

"Call them if you think I'm bluffing".

He held up his phone.

"I think you're bluffing".

 _Fuck_.

"Yea, boss?"

"Kill her. And leave it on speaker".

_Anytime now, Peter._

"Put it down! Now! Get down now! Hands on your head!"

Neal felt his heart stop.

" _Damn it!_ "

"Sounds like they got company".

Wilkes grabbed the briefcase and flung it against the warehouse wall in anger. As soon as it landed, the latches opened and gold cards spilt out across the ground.

He smirked, "I guess that makes you obsolete".

The gun rose to level with his chest.

"Now, I wouldn't do that if I were you" Neal quickly said, raising both hands, "See, I got friends with sniper rifles, too".

The red dots appeared on Wilkes chest with perfect timing.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!"

He had never been so happy to hear Jones' voice.

"Drop your weapon right now! Freeze! Hands in the air".

Wilkes looked at the agents closing in, and then turned back to Neal, hand remaining steady on the gun.

"Well, if I'm going down anyway, I might as well make it worth my while".

He froze.

* * *

_*BANG*_

* * *

Everything slowed down to half speed. Wilkes spinning around, his arms starting to lower, his hands beginning to loosen around the gun.

Neal frowned, wondering where all the yelling had gone and if Peter was close by because everything had suddenly become worryingly _silent_.

Wilkes smirked like a man who'd finally gotten his revenge, even as the red lights on his chest flickered and faded and Neal suddenly realised with a startling clarity that _he'd fucked up._

* * *

_*BANG*_

* * *

Suddenly, everything speeds up again, and Neal finds himself half collapsed against the car as agents rush past.

He feels like he should be doing something, yelling or calling out for help or helping Jones make the arrest, but his chest feels strangely _tight_ and the words won't come.

He feels himself slide down the sleek black car, hitting the filthy concrete below with a jerk, head spinning and vision blurring.

_That's weird._

He doesn't feel sick, but likewise he doesn't feel _not_ sick. Everything seems muffled and distant and he vaguely recalls that he has to talk to Peter about something but can't remember _what._

He slumps over, half propped up against the tire next to him, and mourns the loss of his suit. In front of the car, he sees Wilkes on the ground and he's not sure why they're _both_ lying down since Neal is the only one with reason to, but even now, that reason eluded him.

An FBI agent rushed up to the body and kicked the gun away before putting two fingers to his neck.

He grimaced and shook his head.

_Huh._

Neal could've _sworn_ that Wilkes had been alive a minute ago, but then there was that _bang_ and then the _second_ bang and he'd been thrown backwards by some invisible force and Wilkes had landed and sort of _twitched_ and then hadn't moved again and-

* * *

The pain hits Neal at the exact same moment Jones reaches him.

* * *

He's forced to bend over with a _gasp_ , hands coming up to _claw_ at his chest as a shearing _tug_ makes his vision white. In the distance, there's yelling, and the faint sound of sirens. Neal tries to breathe but he _can't_. It's almost as if there's a _truck_ sitting on his lungs and no matter how hard he tries to shift it, _he can't_. His hearing fades and his eyelashes begin to flicker and-

"Caffrey? _Caffrey!_ "

There's a sharp stinging across his face, but its _nothing_ compared to _whatever the fuck_ was wrong with his _chest_.

"Caffrey!"

Two hands land on his shoulders, and he's moved so abruptly that he can't help but cry out. The same voice shushes him, apologising quickly and almost _frantically_ , as he's carefully leant back against the rain-splashed car.

It was better than the mud-covered tire, he guessed.

"Hey! _Hey_ , I need you to listen to me, alright?"

He half-heartedly swiped a hand at the fingers that were doing something to his tie, but was easily stopped.

"Caffrey, _Neal_ , hey, you gotta focus! _Listen to my voice,_ and don't you _dare_ close those eyes!"

He wanted to whine, but it felt like too much effort, so he settled for a not-so-convincing pout instead.

The voice chuckled, although it was slightly strained, and then warm hands rested on his neck, raising his head until he could see the clouds far above.

They were moving slowly, _far too slowly_ for them to be real, and Neal distantly wondered if they _hadn't_ gotten the memo that said everything had to speed up again. Maybe if he closed his eyes, they would move...

"Caffrey!"

He blinked, quickly, and suddenly found that the blue sky was now blocked out by brown eyes.

Oh. It was Jones. From the warehouse.

_Was he still at the warehouse?_

"Peter's on his way, and we've called for an ambulance. You _need_ to stay awake until then, okay?"

He vaguely nodded.

Jones smiled.

"Okay, good. Now, I gotta take this shirt off you to see the wound, alright?"

Neal wanted to ask _what wound_ but the second the agent started peeling his shirt away, all the oxygen seemed to vanish again.

He gasped, choking on the very air he wasn't receiving, and _desperately_ clawed at the man's hand for help. Jones paled, expression turning grim as he quickly lowered the damp fabric and pressed down.

* * *

Had he found his voice; Neal would have screamed.

* * *

"-know, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ , I _know_ it hurts, I'm so _sorry_ -"

Jones looked scared.

"Put him on his side!"

A nameless woman in an FBI windbreaker had appeared.

"What?!"

"If the bullet pierced his lung, you need to put him on his side-"

" _Why?!_ "

"Just _do_ it!"

Neal flinched back from the second set of hands that were suddenly touching him, and his eyes clenched shut as he was moved once more. He couldn't hear anything above his own failed attempt at breathing, and his head was _reeling_ as he tried to piece together _just_ _what the hell is happening?!_

"Injured side down, the gravity will help keep his lung open".

"Wait, wait, wait, don't we need to keep pressure on it?"

"Well, I don't have any _fucking_ saran wrap, Jones, _do_ _you?!_ "

The ground was damp beneath his cheek, but blessedly _cool_ , and Neal found his eyes drifting shut once more. The hand on his shoulder shook him, _hard_ , and he became aware of a vague _whooshing_ sound, like hissing air leaving a vacuum.

"Keep those eyes open, Caffrey, or I swear to _god_ it won't just be Burke you have to worry about!"

Burke?

As in… _Peter?_

Neal couldn't remember when he'd last seen Peter.

They were working on a case, something about… gold cards? Or- Or a kidnapped girl? Something priceless and pretty. They even caught the guy too, he realised, as his eyes fell on a familiar face lying a few feet away. But why was _he_ lying down? Was _everyone_ lying down? Was there some sort of international lying down day that he'd forgotten about?

* * *

"NEAL!"

Oh. There was Peter. Running past the body on the ground, down the cracked concrete, and shoving through the agents crouched down next to him.

So, Neal was lying down too, then. _Ha_. They were the weird ones, not him.

"Neal!"

He tried to reply, to say his name, to say anything, but there was only that wet sucking sound again and his head was starting to feel _heavy_.

"Neal!" Peter repeated, kneeling on the wet concrete and ruining his jeans. Neal pouted even more at that. There was no good reason for _both_ of their clothes to get dirty.

"Hey, bud, I need you to stay awake, okay?"

He mentally groaned.

Why the _hell_ was everyone _saying_ that to him?!

I mean, seriously, he was lying on the _ground_ , it was pretty _damp_ from last night's _rain,_ and he was _so far from comfortable_ that it wasn't even _funny_ , so just _how on earth_ did they expect him to _go to sleep?!_

" _Neal!_ "

 _Whoops_ , his eyes had closed.

Peter leant forwards until their faces were mere inches apart. He wanted to make a joke about Elizabeth not being too impressed, but couldn't find enough energy to even _blink_. A familiar calloused hand rested on his forehead and swept back the curls from his face. Neal lent into it with a sigh, feeling warm and safe and kind of sleepy.

"Neal, don't you _dare!_ "

This concrete floor was surprisingly doable, _especially_ since he'd spent almost four years on a prison bed. And the puddles weren't so bad either, since they were cooling him down. Neal supposed that he could, in fact, fall asleep here if he wanted to, despite the weird fuzziness coursing through his blood. Maybe just a _little_ sleep. Just a nap. A _siesta_ , if you will. That was fine, wasn't it?

"Neal!"

There was a firm hand shaking his shoulder.

"Come on, Neal, _please_ ".

Whatever. It could wait.

"... Neal?"

 _Man,_ he needed to sleep.

* * *

Peter couldn't help but smile as the shock blanket was wrapped around Lindsey.

They had her, she was safe, and all they needed now was to arrest-

"Agent Burke, we got Wilkes".

Perfect.

"We're secure here" He said into the radio, "We got the girl. What about Neal?"

The radio crackled on… and then _off_.

"Jones?"

He frowned, something sharp and painful worming it's way through his chest.

" _Jones_ , what about Neal?"

"… Peter-"

He took off.

* * *

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, both from the search, finding the girl unharmed, and the thought of Neal being hurt. Because he had to be. Neal was injured, that's what the tone in Jones' voice had said, something helpless and worried and _guilty_ all in one and he refused to think about _any_ possibility other than Neal got hurt _but_ _he would be alright._

He reached the side of the warehouse in record time, and decided not to worry about how he got there because he couldn't remember running or driving or getting on a train or anything above the constant mantra of _he'll be fine he'll be fine he'll be-_

When he reached the car, he felt his heart freeze.

There was a young blonde woman he didn't recognise crouched down next to the front tire. Next to her, knelt Jones, his tan jacket missing and green shirt stained red. And there, in front of them…

"NEAL!" He yelled, shoving past the other agents on site. He barely registered Wilkes' body on the ground, a neat red circle in the very centre of his chest, his only concern right now being his C.I.

He collapsed next to him, hands hovering uselessly above his prone form.

"Neal!"

Blue eyes, half closed and glazed over, stared up at him from the damp concrete ground. His mouth opened, as if to say something like 'hey Peter, got you! This is all just an elaborate joke!' but instead, the only sound that emerged was wet and wheezing and-

_Oh no._

" _Neal!_ "

He had heard that sound before, once, a long time ago with a temporary partner at a drug bust that went bad.

"Hey, bud, I need you to stay awake, okay?"

Peter's hands frantically ran over the conman's chest, searching for the entry wound because _holy shit Neal had been shot!_

"Ambulance is on the way" Jones said quietly, but he didn't reply.

His eyes began to drift closed again.

"Neal!"

Peter leant forward, close enough to hear the faint rattling that came with the man's every breath. His hair was half plastered to his forehead with sweat, and it made his very soul ache to think of the amount of pain the young man was currently in. He reached up with a shaking hand and gently brushed back the dark curls, Neal sighing and leaning into the touch like a stray alley-cat starved for affection.

"Neal, don't you _dare!_ "

His eyes had closed again.

"Neal!"

Peter quickly shook his shoulder to wake him up.

"Come on, Neal, _please_ ".

There was no response.

"… Neal?"

* * *

The sirens in the distance got louder with every second, and then suddenly glove-covered hands were pulling him back from his C.I.'s motionless body.

He couldn't even find the strength to fight them.

Peter watched as the paramedics carefully lifted Neal onto an orange board, yelling things about 'hypovolemic shock' and 'pneumothorax confirmed'.

Once he was laid out on the stretcher, one of the doctors pulled a large needle from her bag, tapping it once before non-too-gently piercing Neal's chest with it. There was a _hiss_ and the sound of sucking air, and then an oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and three other needles connected to different coloured bags were shoved into his arm.

Peter wanted to vomit.

"-urke? Agent Burke? _Sir!_ "

He blinked and quickly turned to face the paramedic who had just touched his arm.

"Are you coming with us to the hospital?"

His head was reeling.

"To… To the-"

Jones stepped forwards, "Yes, he is. I'll sort out everything here, and Agent Rice can do the rest".

He found himself nodded and when he next blinked, he was sitting in the side of a far too small ambulance and Neal was lying in front of him with people in white rushing around.

The bullet had pierced his lung.

Neal couldn't breathe because Wilkes had shot him in the chest and the bullet had pierced his lung and the last and only man Peter had ever seen this happen to had-

Had _died_.

* * *

Peter doesn't know how long he sat in that bleak waiting room, jeans mud stained and damp and elbow deep in blood that wasn't his own. He'd been kindly but firmly told that he couldn't come any further once they'd arrived at the hospital and then pointed in the direction of the nearest sink.

It'd taken fifteen full minutes before he got the blood out from underneath blunt nails, but even now as he stared down at worn hands, he could make out the occasional red speck.

His jeans could be washed, as well as the jacket, but he knew that his pullover and shirt were a lost cause, and, you know, for someone who loved style so much, Neal had really blown his way through half of Peter's clothes.

"Burke".

He glanced up, surprised to find Hughes suddenly standing in front of him.

"… Sir? What are you doing here?"

"One of our own is in life-threatening _surgery_ , Peter, what the hell do you _think_ I'm doing here?"

Hughes sat down in the squeaky plastic chair next to him.

"Any word?"

"Nothing" He replied, voice hoarse, "The doctors said it could take hours yet… _if_ he makes it".

"Of course he will, this is Neal Caffrey we're talking about" He said, patting him on the back, "Are you telling me he'll let a little gun wound keep him down?"

Peter let out a heavy and put his head in his hands.

"… You didn't see him, Reese. He was… It was _horrible_. The bullet pierced his lung, he couldn't breathe, he kept choking up _blood_ and it was… it was _everywhere_ ".

"He'll pull through".

"You don't know that".

"No, but I _do_ know that thinking like _that_ won't help anyone".

Hughes reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a very familiar piece of plastic.

"The Marshall's contacted me. Wanted to get the tracker back on as soon as possible, regardless if Caffrey was in hospital or not".

"… What did you say?"

"I told them to fuck off".

That startled a laugh out of him, and Peter felt something loosen in his chest with the sound.

"Here" Hughes said, handing it to him, "I'll leave it up to you".

"To re-collar the precinct pet?" He asked wryly.

"To do whatever you think is best. For _Caffrey_. Not the Marshalls".

Peter slowly nodded, turning the tracking anklet over in his hands for a minute before pocketing it.

"Did Jones manage okay?"

"Everything's wrapped up. You've got good agents".

"And- And the girl?"

"Back home, safe and sound. Wilkes is dead, which comes with a _mountain_ of paperwork, but… well, that can all wait until Caffrey's back on his feet. Have you called Elizabeth yet?"

He abruptly straightened.

"I- No, _no_ , I- I didn't, I was just so busy and caught up with- with all of _this_ that-"

"Peter?"

He looked up as a familiar face appeared down the hallway.

_El._

Frowning, he quickly turned back to Hughes.

"I thought it might have slipped your mind" He said simply, patting him on the shoulder once more as he stood, "Keep me updated?"

"Of course. _Thank_ you".

"Don't mention it".

Hughes smiled, briefly, as he passed Elizabeth, but she wasted no time in rushing over to him.

"What happened? Reese would only say that Neal got hurt and you were here waiting for him".

"… I might be waiting a while".

" _Peter_ ".

He ran a tired hand over his face.

"It's… It's _bad_ , El. Neal got shot, and- and it's not like all those other times where he got a few stitches and walked it off, this- this is bad. _Really_ bad".

She immediately sat down next to him, one hand around his shoulder while the other rested on top of his own.

"Where he is?"

"Surgery. The bullet pierced his lung, broke a few ribs, and then stayed inside of him. It all needs to be fixed before he can start getting better but… but they don't know if he _will_ ".

"Oh, _honey_ …"

El wrapped herself around him, and Peter buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent as his eyes burned.

Neal would be okay.

It was like Hughes had said; he was a fighter.

He would be okay.

He _had_ to be.

* * *

"Family of Neal Caffrey?"

Peter sharply looked up as a doctor appeared in the waiting room. It had been over four hours, and next to him, El was sound asleep, using his coat as a pillow. But now…

"That's me" He said, carefully standing up so as to not jostle his wife, "Is Neal-"

"He's alive".

Peter felt his legs buckle and he quickly put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

The doctor gave him a reassuring smile and waited a moment for him to take it in.

"… Can I see him?" Peter finally got out, voice hoarse with relief.

" _Usually_ , I would say no, but given the nature of Mr Caffrey's injury… five minutes".

* * *

Peter slowly sank into the chair next to Neal's bed, unable to connect his energetic playful C.I. with this pale too-still figure.

There were dark circles under his eyes, face gaunt and hollow like he hadn't eaten in months. One of the doctors must have washed away the mud and dirt because the dark curls were placed all _wrong_ , and Peter found himself automatically reaching up to fix it. There were numerous needles and machines connected to him, all beeping reassuringly, but his body told a different story.

Black and blue bruises littered his chest, circling out from spider-like stitches just to the side of his sternum. There were other, smaller bandages every few inches, but there, on the righthand sight of his chest was-

A plastic _tube._

Peter stared at it, feeling sick.

A plastic tube was sticking out of Neal's chest, piercing his skin and muscle and _organs_ and sucking out the blood and fluid that had filled his lungs, giving him air until he could breathe for himself again.

It was _horrifying._

* * *

Peter finished fixing the conman's hair and leant back in his seat once more.

Neal was _alive_ and that's all that mattered.

He knew that it would be a long road to recovery, full of breathing exercises and physical therapy, but he _also_ knew that he would be there for every single _second_ of it.

Neal was too stubborn to stay down for long, and this would be no different.

_So._

Making himself comfortable, Peter hoped that the doctor forgot about him, and gently took Neal's hand in his own.

He was here for the long haul.


	14. 14 - Out of the Box

**14 - Out of the Box**

"Hey" Peter answered.

"I'm headed to the garage" Diana said, "I've got everything on mentor. You're not gonna believe it".

He closed his eyes in relief.

"Is Neal involved?"

" _Heavily_. There's another file, but it's encrypted".

He quickly headed for the door.

"I'll see you in a moment".

Peter's thoughts were running at a mile per minute. Kate, OPR, the music box; all of it was connected. To what extent, he didn't know, but if Neal had struck a deal with Fowler, nothing good could come of it.

"-encrypted file. I couldn't open it".

He frowned as he walked through the carpark. That was Diana's voice alright, but was she-

"I'd like it back".

 _Shit_.

He burst out into the garage only to find their number one suspect pointing a gun at his agent.

" _Burke_ ".

"Fowler. What the _hell_ are you doing?" Peter demanded.

"Of course you're involved in this. Stay where you are".

"Lower your weapon".

"You have no _idea_ what you're getting into".

" _Lower_ your weapon" He ordered once more, glancing over as Diana raised her hands even higher, revealing her holster.

"Hey, just stay where you are!" Fowler snapped.

"Why are you doing this? We're on the same team".

He began to inch forwards.

"Stay where you are. _Stay where you are!_ " He snapped, "You're in _way_ over your head here. You have _no idea_ what

you're getting involved in".

"You don't want to shoot an agent" He shot back, closing in.

With one sudden movement, he drew Diana's gun and levelled it at his chest.

"Now put your gun down".

"Drop the weapon".

"Put your gun down!"

" _Drop the weapon!_ "

" _Put the gun down now!_ "

Diana pointed another gun at him.

"Drop the weapon! _Drop it!_ "

Fowler briefly turned to face her and that was all the chance Peter needed.

* * *

_*BANG-BANG*_

* * *

He rushed over, Diana doing the same, yanking open the older man's shirt to reveal both bullets lodged in a safety vest.

"Breathe, breathe" He shoved his head down, " _Breathe_ , Fowler".

"How'd you know he was wearing a vest?"

He couldn't help but smirk, " I didn't".

Hauling Fowler back up, he pushed him back against the car.

"What the _hell_ is mentor?"

"Mentor is legit, Burke. Caffrey works for us now" He gasped, "He and Kate are deep undercover for OPR".

"OPR doesn't _have_ deep-cover agents. You are helping him disappear!"

"He _wants_ to go".

The words hit Peter like a sledgehammer to the chest.

"... You met with him again".

The music box was in Fowler's car.

"Neal is gonna disappear".

 _Please no_.

"I need to know where he is. _Tell me where he is!_ "

"Why do you care?!"

He quickly turned to Diana, "Give me the drive".

"You want me to upload this to D.C.? Or do we have something to talk about?"

Fowler let out a heavy breath, "... Airstrip by the Hudson, hangar four".

* * *

Running flat out, Peter couldn't possibly express the relief he felt when he realised that Neal was still there, getting closer and closer to the plane by the second, one hand raised to wave at Kate.

"Neal!"

He expected him to turn around, to smirk or grin or say 'goodbye Peter, we made one hell of a team, right?' but he doesn't. It's almost as if he doesn't hear him, so enraptured he is with the girl he gave up his freedom, his future, his _life_ for. The girl that couldn't care less about Neal himself, only about what he could do for her.

" _Neal!_ " He called again, as the younger man left the hanger.

Nothing.

He was over halfway to the plane.

Panting, Peter paused at the edge of the warehouse.

" _NEAL!_ "

For a split second, he thought that was it, that Neal wouldn't hear him and he'd get on the plane and disappear from Peter's life forever, a life that Peter can't imagine Neal not _being_ in anymore.

But then, _then_ , he paused and turned and his face fell.

"What, are you here to arrest me?"

"I'm still a civilian" He grinned, "And I know about mentor. And I know you can walk away, and it's all legal".

"Then what are you doing here?"

"... I'm here as your _friend_ ".

Conflict flashed over the conman's face.

He gestured at the jet only a few meters behind him.

"You understand I'm getting on that plane".

He slowly walked forwards, as if closer proximity could remind Neal of everything he was throwing away.

"I also know you're making the biggest mistake of your life".

"This is what's best for _everyone_ , Peter! You go back to your life… I get to have one of my own".

"You already have one right _here_ " He replied firmly, "You have people who _care_ about you".

Neal glanced back at the plane, clear indecision in his eyes, and Peter realised with a pang that this was the first time he'd seen him without his Caffrey charm mask on, but it was _also_ the last time he'd ever see him full stop.

"You make a difference" He finished, "You _do_ ".

Neal stared at him for a moment before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a familiar worn wallet. He looked down at it for a moment before tossing it across the runway to him.

"... Thank you for this".

Peter caught it in both hands and flipped it open to reveal the criminal consultant ID inside.

"I got to go".

He was mere meters from the plane.

"You said goodbye to everyone but me" Peter called out, "Why?"

Neal sighed and turned back.

"I don't know".

"Yea you do. Tell me".

"I don't _know_ , okay?!"

"Why?"

"You _know_ why".

" _Tell me_ ".

Neal stared at him for a painstakingly long moment.

"... Cause you're the only one who could change my mind".

"Did I?"

He glanced back at the plane, at the window where Kate Moreau sat and smiled like she _hadn't_ betrayed him and then started to walk towards it, snow on his face and remorse in his eyes and Peter felt his heart _ache_.

Then he stopped.

He was so close to the plane he could have reached out and touched its wing.

In front of him, the engines started to whirl.

Neal turned back.

"... _Peter-_ "

* * *

_*BOOM*_

* * *

Neal was flung forward from the force of the blast but that was okay because Peter had started running before the earth shattering noise had even ended. The back of his coat was on fire and he desperately tried to pull it off of him, tossing the leather bag to the side and yanking at the too hot sleeves as Neal remained motionless, whether from shock or something worse, Peter didn't know.

Finally pulling off the burning belstaff, he flung it far away from them and watched as the flames started to melt the tarmac runway. Neal's shirt was burned through in places and Peter swore as he saw charred and bleeding skin beneath.

He quickly hauled him up, trying to pull the ex-con as far away from the flames as possible, but it seemed like that just hit the reboot button, and Neal immediately began struggling against him.

"No, no, no, _no!_ "

He got a sharp elbow to the ribs and it took everything he had to keep hold of him.

"No! _NO!_ " Neal shouted, yelled, _screamed_ , desperately trying to run towards the burning plane.

"No! Stay here!" Peter demanded, yanking him back by the wrist and noticing how it didn't quite feel right beneath his hand.

Neal didn't even seem to feel the pain, shoving against Peter's chest as he tried to propel himself away.

"No! _No!_ Stay _back!_ "

The air was scorching, the plane was cindering, and Kate was dead.

In the distance, he heard sirens.

* * *

Peter sat silently in a hard plastic chair and tried not to grimace at the dull ache in his chest.

Directly across from him, perched on the edge of a hospital gurney, was Neal.

He was hunched over, elbows on knees, as the doctor behind him applied antibiotic cream to his back. His face was strangely passive, not a single emotion flickering through those dark blue eyes. His left wrist was in a cast and ash still fell from his hair. Peter had once read somewhere that sometimes, third degree burns don't actually cause any pain since they can damage nerve endings, but something else told him that there was _another_ reason for Neal's numbness.

"Peter?"

He turned as Elizabeth burst through the door, and forced a tired smile.

"Hey, hon".

She immediately rushed over.

"What happened? Are you okay?! Clinton couldn't give me any details, he just said you were in hospital and I asked the lady at the desk and- is that _soot_ in your _hair?!_ "

He briefly glanced over at Neal, still as emotionless as ever, before standing with a muffled groan.

"Let's talk outside. Neal, I'll just be on the other side of this door if you need me, okay?"

Still nothing.

The doctor finished with the ointment, picked up a roll of non-stick dressing, and gave him a reassuring smile.

Funnily enough, he didn't feel any better.

* * *

"What happened?" El repeated as he closed the door behind him, careful to keep the younger man within his sight through the glass panel.

"... I can't tell you much" He apologised, "I'm not meant to know about half of this myself, and I'm already in enough trouble as it is".

" _Peter_ ".

He took a deep breath, then winced and raised a hand to his side.

El immediately frowned, "What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Two bruised ribs, nothing major".

"What- How- Were you _punched?!_ "

He found his gaze drifting back to the room next to them. The doctor was asking Neal some questions, sitting in the chair that Peter had just left, but he wasn't giving further answers than nodding or shaking his head.

"... It was Neal".

"Neal _punched_ you?!"

"No! Or, well, _yes_ , technically, but it was…"

He cut himself off and ran a tired hand over his face.

"... Kate's dead".

El froze, eyes wide and skin paling.

"What? Kate? _Kate_ , as in-"

" _Neal's_ Kate. Yea… We saw her die".

She looked like she was going to faint, so he quickly pulled her forwards and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, mindful of his bruised ribs.

"Fowler cut some backhanded deal with her and Neal. They could legally leave the country, with new names and backgrounds, as long as Neal got him something first".

"The music box".

"Exactly. I got to the airstrip just in time to talk to him. I tried to convince him to stay, to not _throw_ away his life like this… He was about to say something, he turned back, and I- I thought I'd gotten _through_ to him and then… _boom_ ".

El pulled back and looked up at him, eyes distraught but concerned.

"The plane?"

"There was a bomb onboard. Kate was already on it. If I hadn't stalled Neal, then…"

"Then he would be dead too".

He couldn't help but snort.

"Not for lack of trying. After the plane blew up, he got caught in the flames. I pulled his coat off of him, but… well, the doctors say he'll be scarred for life. He fought against me, _desperately_ , like- like some sort of _wild animal_ , just trying to get to the plane, to Kate, to… That's how I bruised my ribs. But when it finally sank in that she was gone, he just _collapsed._ Hasn't spoken a word since".

She hugged him once more and he breathed in the calming scent of her shampoo.

"You did everything you could, Peter. If it weren't for you, Neal wouldn't even be _alive_ right now".

"I know. I _know_ that, but I just… There's going to be an enquiry. Neal's going to go back to prison, until I get reinstated, at least. And he's not going to take Kate's death lying down".

"... Do you think Fowler had something to do with it?"

Peter stared over her head as the doctor stood once more, patting Neal on the leg before turning to fiddle with the IV line attached to his right hand. The conman looked lost, scared, somehow _detached_ from the rest of the world. Only a few hours ago, Peter had been _glad_ that his mask had finally fallen, but now, standing here, watching as he remained motionless, strangely _childlike_ and heartbroken... He wasn't sure anymore.

"I don't know" Peter answered, "But I intend to find out".


	15. 1 - Withdrawel

**1 - Withdrawel**

"Thank you" Peter greeted as Renee unlocked the door for them.

She smiled, as innocent looking as ever, "Sure".

"I appreciate your taking the time".

"You said you had a theory?"

He nodded, "Our faceless friends may have left something behind. I'd like to re-examine the vault, just in case".

"No rest for the weary, huh?" Neal smirked, but she shook her head.

"Those creeps held a _gun_ to my _head_. I'll rest when you catch them".

He shared a look with Peter.

This might just be easier than they thought.

* * *

"Your team was pretty thorough" Renee said as the vault door buzzed open, "What is it you think that they missed?"

"213".

For a brief moment, fear flickered over her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Deposit box 213" Peter continued, "Pretty sure no one's looked in there yet".

"Sounds like it's worth a shot" Neal added.

"Uh, I'm sorry, that's the property of one of our customers" She said quickly, "You'd need his authorization or a warrant".

Peter held up the master key.

"Got this from the Bank President. But the box doesn't belong to one of your customers… It belongs to _you_ ".

She was starting to look desperate.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken".

"No, we did a background check on all the boxes in this vault".

Neal nodded, "Did you know 213 was rented to your uncle two months ago?"

"... I don't see why that would be a problem".

"I do" Peter said, "He died two years ago. Either it's a _miracle_ …"

"... or _you_ forged his application" Neal finished.

"My money's on the latter".

There was a tense beat before she finally smiled and reached into her handbag to pull out the right key.

"Okay, _fine_. Why don't you have a look?"

The door opened silently, the weight of the money barely causing the wheels to stutter as the box slid out.

"Wow" Peter said, understatement of the year, "1.5 million in cash".

Neal smirked and glanced back only to see-

_Gun_.

He froze before slowly raising both hands above his head.

* * *

"Did you know she had a gun?"

Peter stepped away from the money.

"I did not".

Renee gestured with the weapon, "Okay, get the bag, and put the money in the bag".

He quickly did as told, grabbing a cloth container behind him and stacking the money inside.

"Not a bad plan" Peter started, "Walker leaves your cut, and all you have to do is walk out with it once the dust settles. Pretty good plan, I'd say… _Except we_ _figured it out_. You really think you can outrun the _FBI?_ "

"For the record, it's a marathon, not a sprint" Neal couldn't help but add.

"He would know".

He gave the agent a dirty look but Peter ignored him.

"Stop talking, and put the _money_ in the _bag!_ "

"That was a pretty nice acting job you did for the cameras".

"Even the best laid plans…"

" _Shut up!_ " She snapped.

Neal ignored her, instead focusing on the dye pack inside the stack of cash he pulled out. He subtly left in on the table in front of him, giving a pointed look to Peter who nodded silently in response.

_Distract her._

"Walker convinced you to help him, didn't he?"

"He convinced me I shouldn't wait 20 years to have a mediocre pension to retire on".

Which, you know, _fair_.

"Why wait when I can have three times that right now?"

Neal hid another dye packet.

"Because you'll get caught".

"Again, he would know".

_Game_.

"Did I tell you to stop? Keep filling the bag!"

He carefully flipped up the top dollar bill to show Peter the plastic beneath.

"Could you stop doing that, please?"

"What?"

"Rubbing it in" Neal snapped, "It's very hypocritical".

"Well, it's not untrue. I caught you".

Renee glared at them, "Hey!"

_Set_.

"Okay, you know what? I'm _tired_ of this".

"Of being held hostage or what?"

"No, _bickering_ with _you!_ "

He stepped back, both dye packs in his hands.

"Well, you're not the only one".

"Really?"

"Yea, _really_ ".

"Wow. Okay".

"Maybe it is time for this partnership to end".

"Okay, that's fine by me. I can finally start my novel".

" _Novel?!_ You can barely write a _parking ticket_ ".

"You know, that's _very_ immature".

"Hey!" Renee yelled.

_Match_.

"Hold on!"

"You really want this to end?"

"Do _you?_ "

"I'm ready".

"Let's do it".

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

_*BANG*_

* * *

Peter rushed forwards, grabbing the gun from Renee as she sank to the ground, purple dye staining her face and clothes.

_"Ah,_ my eyes!"

"In here!" He yelled, "We're in here!"

The FBI agents ran in just in time.

"Right there" He gestured, "Handcuff her. Somebody read her her rights".

"Yes, sir".

He let out a heavy breath and turned to face Neal who was-

Standing.

Right where he'd left him.

With a strange sort of… _blank_ expression.

"Neal?"

He slowly turned to him.

Peter took a step forward.

And his partner collapsed.

* * *

"NEAL!"

He staggered back against the safety deposit boxes, shaking hands coming up to press against his side as he slowly sank down to the floor.

Peter was by his side in an instant.

"Neal? _Neal!_ Hey, _buddy_ , talk to me!"

He opened his mouth to reply but no words came out, the shocked and almost _surprised_ look on his face remaining in place. Peter carefully pried away his hand despite the man's groan, and pulled back his suit jacket.

His shirt was clinging to him, a red circle widening on his left side, dampening the fabric and making his fingers strangely warm.

He stared in disbelief.

Then raised Renee's gun to his face and-

Gunpowder.

" _Fuck_ ".

When the dye packet exploded she must have automatically tightened her grip on the weapon.

Tightened her grip on the _trigger_.

Neal's breathing was ragged, skin pale and sweaty.

"Hey, _hey_ , stay awake! I need you to stay with me alright!" He ordered, "Somebody call an ambulance!"

"Pe'tr-"

"No, don't try to talk, just _stay awake_ , okay?"

He replaced the suit jacket and pressed down on it, hard, hating himself for it when Neal choked in pain.

"Just stay awake" He repeated, "Paramedics are on the way, alright?"

A trembling hand found its way to Peter's shirt, fingers clutching at the fabric like a drowning man would clutch a straw and he hoped to god that that's where the similarity to the analogy ended.

"Hey, come on, let's think about what we're going to tell Hughes".

He forced a small smile.

"First job out of a prison and you get yourself _shot?_ He's not going to be too impressed, huh?"

Neal didn't even try to smile back, breathing loud in the quiet room, eyes glazed over.

"Or- Or what about Jones? What do you think he's going to say? Or _Diana?_ She'll _never_ let you live this down, you know".

Hot sticky red was starting to pour between his fingers and Peter desperately tried to remember if there was anything vital that could have been hit.

The wound wasn't that high up on his left side, resting an inch or so in from the conman's waist. Okay. So. The bullet would have most likely hit his spleen, which nobody needed anyway so that was fine. But it just as easily could have hit his stomach. Or his liver.

A gunshot liver didn't sound too good.

* * *

Neal's eyes started to drift shut.

"No! No, _hey!_ Stay awake, come _on!_ " Peter demanded, pressing down more firmly on the wound as he hurriedly glanced back at the door for help.

Asides from a just-as-terrified looking FBI agent, there was no one there.

"Where's that ambulance?!" He snapped, and the newbie visibly shook in his standard issue boots.

"I- I d-don't know, s-sir but I- I'll, uh, I'll c-check!"

He ran.

"Pe'tr".

He immediately turned back.

"Neal? Neal!"

The grip on his shirt loosened.

"... Thanks" He gasped out, "F'r gettin' me out 'gain".

He felt his eyes water and angrily bit back tears.

"You gotta hold on, buddy. Don't want all my hard work going to waste now, do you?"

He gave a weak smile and his fingers loosened further.

"You're almost a law abiding citizen now" Peter continued desperately, "So _stay awake_ , you hear me?"

His hand, blood stained and pale, fell limply to his lap.

"Neal?"

The room was suddenly painfully silent.

"Neal!"

He quickly reached up to feel for a pulse on his neck, but his partner's head merely lolled forward, eyes closed and breathing shallow.

"No, no, _no_ , don't do this to me!" Peter snapped, propping up the far-too-still conman back against the deposit boxes.

Keeping one hand pressed against the bullet wound, he reached up with the other to gently tap the side of the unresponsive man's face, blatantly ignoring the red streaks he left behind on pale skin.

"Come on, wake up! _Neal!_ "

Nothing.

Cursing both loudly and expressively, he turned back to the door to see if the young agent had reappeared.

He hadn't.

But in the distance, Peter could hear sirens.

Looking back at his unconscious C.I., he tried in vain wake him once more.

"Come on, Neal" He muttered, "Just hang on for me, _please_ ".

* * *

Peter paused once he reached the hospital room, hovering at the door as a nurse finished twisting knobs and checking stats. She jotted down some notes on the clipboard at the end of the bed, and then smiled at him as she passed.

"Can you believe that they cut up my _Devore?_ "

He blinked and turned back to face the man lying in the same bed.

Neal grinned at him.

He was tired and too pale and ever-so-slightly high on the morphine being constantly injected into him.

But he was alive.

"No! _Really?_ " Peter said in mock affront, "Didn't you tell them what it was?"

"I was unconscious during my jacket's hour of need" Neal pouted, "But where were you, _Agent_ Burke?"

"Probably throwing away my _own_ jacket" He replied easily, pulling up a hard plastic chair to the side of the bed, "That's half a dozen shirts you've cost me by now. I should start sending you my dry cleaning bills".

"Or you could do what I do and just wash your shirts at home".

"Neal. It's _blood_ ".

"Peter. Use _hydrogen peroxide_ ".

He stared at him.

"You're _against_ violence. How do you _know_ that?"

Neal started back.

"You're married to a _woman._ How do you _not?_ "

It was silent for a moment.

Peter cleared his throat and looked away.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid this one was rather a lost cause. No thanks to you, of course".

"Not my fault she pulled a gun".

"And yet you always seem to be the _only one_ who _ever_ gets shot".

"That was _one time!_ "

"Twice, now" He retorted, "Not to mind the _three_ close calls you've had! What are you, a magnet?"

"Yea! A magnet for _unappreciation!_ "

Peter sighed, exasperated.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that Walker confessed. After we got Renee to turn on him, of course. Good thinking with the dye packs, by the way".

Neal hummed, "I thought you'd like that. And the whole fake argument thing? _Brilliant_. Especially the bit about you wanting to write a novel. I almost started laughing".

Peter snorted and shook his head, but smiled all the same.

Neal glanced over at him and smiled back.

"Nice job".

"Not so bad yourself".


	16. 2 - Need to Know

**2 - Need to Know**

"Cooper!"

Neal turned as Mayfield called his alias.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing".

He forced the smile to stay on his face.

Did the man suspect something?

They were _so_ _close_ to arresting Jennings, this couldn't afford to go wrong now.

"Thanks, I'll check in later" He said to the nameless suit next to him before making his way over.

Reggie looked relaxed but Neal could see the tension set in his jaw.

"Nice job".

He ignored the fake compliment.

"Look, I need to know what's going on, or I can't fix it".

He had to maintain his cover at all cost.

"But if you can't trust me…"

Turning, he purposelessly strode away to let the man draw his own conclusions.

"You believe in Gary Jennings, right?"

He glanced back.

"Yea. I wouldn't have done _this_ if I didn't. He's gonna be governor in the next five years".

"He's got his sights set even higher" Reggie replied, stepping closer, "To make it _clear_ , we need to take out this FBI agent".

Neal froze.

It wasn't his cover being called into question here.

It was _Peter_.

"Didn't you just watch the news?" He tried to deflect, "The story's buried, I took care of it".

"For _now_ , yea. But I've seen guys like Burke" He said, "You've buried him now, but that's just gonna heat him up".

Mayfield wasn't going to be so easily dissuaded.

"What's your plan?"

"This prostitute, Lana… I think she knows a lot more about Burke than she's letting on".

"You want to talk to her?"

Reggie smirked.

"Not me. I've got a guy".

"Barrow?"

Neal felt his heart beat start to quicken.

"He'll talk to her".

Pimps didn't just _'talk'_ to anyone.

"What's he going to do to the girl?"

"He'll scare her. Maybe rough her up a little".

He had to warn Diana.

"And what if he gets out of control?"

Mayfriend shrugged.

"Is that so bad?"

"... When's Barrow gonna have this discussion with the girl?"

A smile.

"Any time now".

_Fuck_.

* * *

Reggie turned to leave, but Neal's worry must have shown on his face because he paused and glanced back at him.

"... Are we going to have a problem?"

_Think of the mission think of the mission think of the mission-_

"Not at all" Neal forced a blinding smile, "Just looking out for Jennings. I don't want any backlash from this".

He slowly nodded, "Don't worry, Gary's name will stay out of it… And, hey, speaking of Gary, he actually wanted me to go over a few things with you, for the next campaign".

He had a strange glint in his eyes, _manic_ almost.

Neal frowned, "Now?"

"No time like the present".

The man was smirking but there was something… _off_ about it. But if _did_ have any doubts, then Neal not coming with him would only raise more suspicion.

"Of course" He aquised, "Gotta stay ahead, after all".

Mayfield's smile tightened and he gestured at the door leading to a corridor of offices, "Shall we?"

Neal made his grin stick and casually slung his hands in his pockets as he walked in front of the man.

His right hand brushed against his mobile and he desperately tried to recall Peter's number.

Typing it in one-handed without being able to see what he was doing made it all that more difficult, but right now Diana's safety was his main concern.

"In here" Mayfield said, typing a number code into a door that said 'Authorised Personnel Only'.

Neal smiled and nodded and brushed past the man, using the sudden movement to hit send.

Even if his _own_ cover was blown, the least he could do was ensure that Diana was safe first.

He just hoped to whatever deity out there that Peter got the message in time.

* * *

"Diana's entering Barrow's hotel room" Jones said, headset pressed to one ear.

Peter nodded and then frowned as his phone buzzed, awkwardly pulling it out in the cramped space of the van.

It was a text message from- from _Neal?_

_SOS DIANA._

But why would he…

Unless-

"Diana's in trouble" He realised, jumping up, "You two come with me, Jones call for backup!"

He took the stairs two at a time, the windbreakers hot on his trail. If anything happened to her…

One floor to go and there was a resounding _bang_ , and Peter wasted no time in kicking down the door once he reached it.

Diana stood there, looking stunning in her yellow dress, one stiletto heel pressing against the wounded Barrow who lay groaning on the floor.

He couldn't help but give a sigh of relief.

"Aw" Diana teased, "You were _worried_ ".

"Well, not about you" Peter bantered back, "I was worried what _you'd_ do to _him_ ".

He holstered his weapon.

"Think we got enough to arrest Jennings now?"

"Yea" He said, picking up Barrow's gun, "I think we do".

* * *

Throwing open the door of Jenning's campaign office, Peter briefly frowned as Neal was nowhere to be seen.

He hadn't called him on the way over, not wanting to risk Gary overhearing or realising the truth and making a run for it. He hadn't texted for the same reason, but he knew that Neal was here and he knew that Neal knew they were about to make the arrest, so for him to _not_ be at the door was… strange.

In front of him, Jennings gave a big thumbs up for the photographer.

"Picture perfect" He muttered, as FBI officers filed in.

Following them into the glass box, he was more than a little annoyed at Jenning's smirk.

"I don't think this is the headline you're looking for, Agent Burke" He said, " _Rogue FBI agent arrests innocent man_ ".

He laughed, "You're a saint. Isn't he?"

The two officers smirked as they cuffed him.

"Senator Jennings, you're under arrest".

"This is ridiculous. On what charge?"

"Oh, a bunch of them" He replied breezily, "Campaign finance fraud and as an accessory to murder. I also know about Barrow".

Gary's face fell for a brief moment, before his smirk returned.

"You might know about Barrow… But I know about _Caffrey_. I'd say we're even, don't you?"

Peter froze.

"Nothing to say to that?"

The agents made to haul him away but a sharp gesture stopped them.

"Where's Caffrey?"

"As if I'd tell you".

He took a threatening step forward, "Unless you want me to add kidnapping a federal agent, conspiracy, and hindering prosecution to the list, _tell_ me where he is".

Jennings scoffed, "Right now, _Benjamin's_ my only bargaining chip, Burke. What makes you think I'd give it up so easily?"

" _Where. Is. He?!_ "

"You know, it all made sense, when Reggie told me who he was. The charm, the smirk, the way everything seemed to just… fall into place, no matter what he did. Of course, now that I know that the FBI were the ones pulling the strings, it doesn't seem so _impressive_ ".

Reggie had figured it out. Reggie Mayfield, head of opposition research, the man who _ordered_ Diana's _murder_ … Reggie had _Neal_.

Turning, he found half a dozen officers waiting for orders.

"Fan out" Peter said, "Search the building, they couldn't have gone far".

Jennings continued to grin as he was marched past.

"Oh, they haven't gone far alright. But you know what they say, Agent Burke. _Quality, not quantity_ ".

He stopped at the door and glanced back at him.

"Did you know that Reggie used to be a professional boxer?"

* * *

Peter swore as he kicked open the door to yet another empty room.

It was the fourth he'd searched and so far, there were no signs of either Neal _or_ Reggie. Jennings still wasn't talking, so he'd had uniform haul him to a holding cell while he called Jones and Diana and explained the situation.

Logically he knew that Neal was still alive; for all of Jennings taunts, adding _murder_ to his already-lengthy rap sheet would only nail the final nail on his coffin.

So.

Neal was alive.

But that was no guarantee on his safety.

"Peter!"

He quickly turned as Jones jogged up the corridor to meet him.

"Do you have him?"

He sadly shook his head.

"The west hallways clear, but Diana's still searching the offices. I spoke to a few of the witnesses, and they all said that they last saw 'Benjamin' being led away by Mayfield. Neither man looked too happy".

Peter swore.

"Did they say when?"

"Just after Jennings' interview on TV. They were all celebrating; that's why no one paid any attention to where Neal and Mayfield were going".

Just after Jennings' interview… That gave them an almost two hour head start.

Peter let out a heavy breath and ran a tired hand over his face.

_Dammit_ Neal…

The radio clipped to his belt buzzed with static and he froze.

"-oss?"

He shared a look with Jones before lunging for it.

"Diana? What is it? Have you found him?"

"-ink so but-"

Static crackled across the line and he angrily shook the small contraption.

" _Diana?_ "

"-room's locked".

_Shit_.

"Where are you?"

"-ast hall-" another crackle "-ey code".

"The record room" Jones suddenly said, "Where the finance logs are kept. It would be locked with a six digit code to keep everyone out, especially since they were cooking the books".

He had barely finished his sentence before they took off running.

If they couldn't get someone to open the door for them, then they'd have to break it down, which, despite Jennings' arrest, was illegal unless they had probable cause.

And unfortunately, Peter had no proof that Neal was in there.

No cause, no reason, no _warrant_.

"Diana, can you get onto Jennings' officers?"

The radio clicked unhelpfully back at him.

" _Dammit!_ Jones, call ahead for paramedics, and then get onto Hughes. We need to know our rights for this!"

* * *

The records room was half way down the east corridor. Peter was expecting to see two or three agents grouped outside a locked door, and Diana standing there in her designer dress looking angry and out of place.

What he was _not_ expecting was to find an empty hallway and a wooden door blown off its hinges.

Peter stopped, stared, and then carefully compartmentalized that for later.

Right now, Neal was his main concern.

"Diana?" He called, stepping into a dimly lit room, weapon drawn.

The room was relatively small, walls lined with filing cabinets, but there was another door directly opposite him leading somewhere else. A quick glance around the room revealed it to be empty, so he kept his gun raised and cautiously toed open the other door.

"Peter".

Diana's sigh of relief was barely audible above the beating of his heart that seemed to drown out everything else as he took in the scene before him.

Just like the previous room, this one had back-to-back metal cabinets as well, though most of the room was taken up with large bookshelves piled up with dusty green-coloured notebooks. To his right, lying flat on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind his back, was Mayfield, gagged with his own tie with a bloody lip and staring up at him with hateful eyes. To his left, Diana knelt on the ground, one shoulder of her yellow dress torn, and the front of it stained red. Her belt was missing.

Peter blinked and then forced himself to turn one more final time.

Neal was mostly on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, shoulders and head propped up against the filing cabinet behind him. A black strip of fabric (Diana's belt, his mind vaguely registered) was tied tightly around his right leg a few inches above the knee. The once-pristine trousers were dusty and scuffed and there was an ever widening red stain sneaking out from beneath the belt. His other leg looked fine, until Peter reached his ankle. There was no sign of blood, and nothing as dramatic as a bone protruding from his flesh, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that it just looked wrong. Twisted, perhaps, or maybe broken again. One hand was lying on the ground next to him, palm up, while the other was loosely gripping his stomach, knuckles bruised and bloody.

And despite everything, Peter couldn't help but feel a little spark of pride at the sight of torn skin.

Neal hadn't gone down without a fight.

* * *

Slowly lowering his weapon, he swallowed thickly and made himself look up at the conman's face.

Or at least, what he could see of it.

There was a gash above his right eye, another below it, and a third glancing off a sharp cheekbone. His lip was split and bloody, there were darkening bruises already forming a perfect ring around his throat, and his nose was clearly broken. Most of his face was covered in blood, but what was most worrying, were two bruised eyes remaining shut.

"He was conscious only a few minutes ago" Diana said, one hand keeping pressure on Neal's leg and the other resting gently on his shoulder, "Coherent, too".

Peter holstered his weapon and cautiously walked over, almost afraid to breathe too heavily in case it caused the vulnerable man to fall apart.

"Mayfield did this?"

She nodded.

"There's a dull blow to the back of Neal's head, probably caused by one of these files, and his hands were bound with Mayfield's tie when I finally broke in".

Peter felt a wave of contempt rise up inside of him, a seething vicious _loathing_ for the middle-aged man lying a few feet away.

Getting Neal out of the way, he could understand. Locking him in this room until Jennings came back, he could understand. But _this?_ Beating the man within an _inch_ of his _life_ after giving him a _concussion_ for _no_ damn _reason_ and then _tying_ him _up_ when he tried to _defend_ himself?!

Mayfield already had a good three inches on the younger man, not to mind fifty-odd pounds.

Neal hadn't stood a chance.

* * *

"I noticed the door" He replied, voice tight as he hands hovered uselessly over his CI's prone form, "You have a warrant for that?"

She grinned, sharp and proud.

"Didn't need one. Protective Sweep"

Peter frowned.

Protective Sweep was one of the few rare instances where the FBI could investigate a property _without_ a warrant, usually after making an arrest. Jennings was in custody, so that was alright, but Diana would have to prove beyond reasonable doubt that she believed a dangerous accomplice, in this case Reggie Mayfield, was hiding inside a specific location, in this case the records room.

It was a fine line… but one that Peter thought they could manage to pull off.

"You got proof that he was in here?" He asked, nodding in Mayfield's direction.

The grin slowly fell from her face, and the hand resting on Neal's shoulder tightened.

"I… I could hear him".

"Mayfield?"

"... He was hitting Neal".

Peter took a deep breath.

_Probable cause_ , indeed.

Diana gestured at a table a few feet away where a solitary USB stick lay.

"I also found that after I cuffed him. What are the chances that the second set of financial records are on it?"

"Do you have a warrant for _that?_ "

"I already told you, Peter. Protective Sweep".

From between them, Neal suddenly groaned.

" _Yea_ , Peter. It allows the police to legally seize any evidence located in plain view during the sweep".

Bruised eyes slowly flickered open to stare up at him.

" _We've_ used that one before".

He let out a sigh of relief and shuffled closer to the younger man.

"Hey, how are you doing, buddy?"

Neal closed his eyes again.

"I'm trying not to think about it".

"Good choice" He agreed, "I told Jones to call for an ambulance, but my radio's kaput so we won't know when they arrive".

"I've still got mine, boss" Diana reminded him, holding up the small black device, "And they'll have to come to us anyway; I don't want to risk moving him".

" _Him_ is still here, you know".

" _Him_ is barely conscious" She corrected, "Not to mind bleeding all over my nice new dress".

"I'll buy you another one".

"With your ten thousand dollars?" Diana teased, "Hate to break it to you, Caffrey, but you spent all _that_ on me already".

He tried to smirk but it quickly turned into a grimace.

"Hey Peter, did you know Mayfield used to be a boxer?"

"I heard" He muttered, worried as the conman's face contorted briefly in pain, "He didn't give you many rounds, huh?"

"Just the one".

Neal's voice was fainter, _breezier_ almost.

"Then he stabbed me with a pen".

Peter glanced down at the blood staining the edges of the belt wrapped around his thigh.

"Well that's not in the rules".

"Wasn't a very fair match".

* * *

Despite their banter, Peter felt his concern growing. Neal was beaten, bloody and bruised and this was only his _second_ _case_ since he got out of prison. He was still going after Kate, and since Mozzie reported that even _he_ couldn't get him to slow down, Peter doubted that the man's current injuries would do so either.

Neal's skin was getting paler, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and mingling in with the streams of blood, his jaw tense and set against the pain. It would be _weeks_ before everything was healed again.

Diana's radio crackled just as they heard sirens in the distance.

Peter let his shoulders fall and mentally urged them to hurry up.

He knew, realistically, that Neal wasn't in any danger of dying, but staring at his fevered bloody skin, he looked dead already.

He could only hope that the conman would take things easier after this, and stop searching for Kate's killer, but at the same time, Peter thought that _that_ was as likely to happen as Jimmy Nolan appearing on TV.


	17. 3 - Copycat Caffrey

**3 - Copycat Caffrey**

"Tell me something I don't know" Eric said, all charm and bravado and _yea_ , Neal would be lying if if he said he didn't see just a _little_ bit of himself in that kid.

"And never, _never_ think you're the smartest guy in the room" He replied, "... Unless you're the smartest guy in the room".

The boy's grin faded slightly.

"Oh, uh, you want to keep your place in that deck? Keep the tip of your little finger in the brief".

"I think I know what I'm doing".

He held up Manny's fifty dollar bill.

"Want to put some money on that?"

"... Sure. Who's the mark?"

Neal glanced around the room, knowing he'd recognise at least one unsavoury character in here. The fact that it was Alex, just made it that much easier. _Good job, Moz._

"How about her?"

Eric glanced past him before smirking and jumping up, making his way over with Neal following a few feet behind him.

At the bar, he held out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Eric".

"Alex" She greeted, "Nice to meet you".

"Alex, pick a card".

She smiled, beauty and innocence all wrapped in one.

"This looks like fun".

Pulling out a card, she looked at it, and then briefly glanced over at Neal. He flickered his eyes back to Eric and subtly shook his head.

"So, put it back on top and cut it for me, would you?"

She did as told and Neal was _positive_ that Eric didn't catch her palming the card.

"Okay. Okay, now, the card I stop at is gonna be yours".

Alex looked over at him again and he shook his head more firmly this time.

"He doesn't think it will be".

"He's wrong".

She glanced down at the cards he was flipping over.

"200 bucks says _he's_ right".

"No. I can't take your money".

She smirked, "Why not? You can't make bets with girls?"

Eric gave Neal a look but he merely shrugged, and with a sigh, the kid pulled out two one-hundred bills and tossed them down on the table. A few flips later and-

"And _that's_ your card".

"And, _no_ , it's not".

_Oof_. Alex could be brutal.

"Well, that was _supposed_ to be your card".

She gathered up the money.

"Now, I guess he was right. Sorry".

* * *

Folding the money, she was stopped with an older man grabbed her wrist.

"I believe _this_ is her card, Eric" Professor Oswald said, pulling the Queen of Diamonds from her purse.

"She and Caffrey played you. She's his, uh, 'inside man', if you will".

"Nice catch".

Eric wasn't so appreciative, so Neal quickly tried to calm him.

"Look, we weren't gonna take your money".

He scoffed, eyes furious.

"Yea, right!"

"Check your pocket".

He pulled out two hundred dollars, but his scowl didn't abate.

"I guess the lesson here is never con a con man" Oswald finished, but Neal smirked, "I think we all know what the lesson is for today, don't we, Eric?"

He was still fuming.

Whoops.

He probably shouldn't have said that.

"Yea. Yea, I guess I'm not the smartest guy in the room".

Before Neal could so much as _blink_ , a solid fist struck him across the face, sending him feeling back against the bar stools.

"But I'm still the _strongest!_ "

Eric stormed off as Alex quickly reached out to steady him.

"You okay?"

Neal blinked, slowly, before reaching up and wiping a bead of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"... Yea. I'm good".

"I'll have a talk with him" Oswald said, but his smirk betrayed his amusement with the situation, "But hey, congratulations. You humbled him. That's not easy to do".

Neal pressed gingerly against his jaw and tried not to groan.

"I'm, uh, Professor George Oswald".

He held out a hand.

"Alex Hunter" Neal quickly said, fighting through the pain to stay on track.

She gave him a dirty look but couldn't say anything with Oswald right in front of them.

"Hi".

"What do you do besides card tricks?"

"Oh-"

"She's in the moving business" He interrupted again, the sharp sting slowly reducing itself to a dull ache.

"Ah. Well, nice to meet you" Oswald said, "If you want to join us for a drink, the next round is on Eric. It's the least he could do after a scene like that".

"Nice to meet you" Alex replied, and Neal nodded "Be right there".

* * *

The moment he was gone, she glared at him and stormed out.

"Hey, hey, _hey!_ " Neal quickly caught her wrist, "Thank you for backing me up in there".

"Mozzie tells me to come to the bar because you have a plan" She snapped, "and now I'm out 200 bucks and _you're_ dropping my name".

"Do you trust me?"

"No".

_Ouch_. That hurt more than the punch.

"Okay, I assume we're doing more than baiting frat boys with bar tricks" She finally gave in, "What's with the dead poets society in there?"

"You know it's my current case _and_ the solution to your problem" He said.

"Russell wants to meet on Sunday to fence the rest of the Krugerrands, but it's a setup. He's gonna _sell me out_ to _whoever_ put the price on my head, and _your_ plan is to bring the _feds_ into it?!"

"I tell the FBI that Oswald and his kids are gonna steal the Krugerrands" Neal explained, feeling his split lip reopen with the movement, "They'll pull Russell in and talk to him. It will _kill_ his reputation. No one will be buying information off him if they think he's in bed with the bureau".

She glanced back through the bar window, "You're crazy".

"It'll work".

"You're _crazy_ " Alex repeated.

"Are you in or are you out?"

"... I'm in".

Neal grinned, and his jaw ached from it.

"Get Mozzie to text me the plan" She finished, eyes flickering down to the blossoming bruise on his face, "And then go put some ice on that".

* * *

"The kids do the legwork" Neal said the next morning, "Oswald fences the good and kicks them back a share of the profit. If the kids get _caught_ …"

"Oswald can sell them out" Peter finished.

"Yea, he'll say he was... teaching a class, and they took it too far".

"He's more slippery than you are" Diana said.

He grinned and his jaw throbbed.

" _Thank_ you".

Peter shook his head at him.

"Do you think you can get him to reveal the painting?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. They spent the night talking about the next best heist".

"Which way are they leaning?"

"Everything from diamond heists to stealing boats" He explained, "... But I think we can choose for them".

"How so?"

Neal slid into a chair and cautiously glanced at the door.

"I happen to know a petty crook who's moving Krugerrands on Sunday".

" _Gold_ Krugerrands?" Peter asked, "Of course you do".

"His name is Russell Smith".

Jones started typing, before hitting enter and turning the laptop around.

"Bingo. Racketeering, extortion, robbery".

"And I don't like him" Neal finished, "We intercept Russell with the Krugerrands, send Jones down the street with the coins, and I get the kids to steal them from him instead".

"We can watch them, follow the case back to Oswald" Diana realised, and he nodded.

"Tell me more about this guy. How do you know him?"

"He's... a friend of a friend".

"Mozzie?" Peter guessed, and Neal looked away, annoyed.

He had more friends than Mozzie.

Not… _many_ , exactly, but Peter didn't have to keep pointing that out to him.

Didn't he at least deserve some privacy in his new not-so-clean life?

"You can convince Oswald and the kids to go after him?" Diana asked.

"I can still be slippery" Neal said, leaning back in his seat, "I'll get _them_ to convince _me_ ".

She scoffed in disbelief, and Jones shook his head, amused.

"Alright, I'm in" Peter decided, "So is _now_ a good time to address that bruise on your face?"

His grin fell as he winced.

"We just had a little… disagreement, last night, at the bar. Uh, don't worry about it".

"Kinda feel like I should" He countered, "Especially since _these_ guys need to _trust_ you".

He raised a solitary eyebrow and Peter sighed.

"Okay, fine, they need to trust you insomuch as criminals _can_ trust each other. But they can't suspect what side you're on, Neal".

_Yea_ , he thought sardonically, _my own._

"They don't" He said instead, "The ringleader, Eric, he just got knocked down a few pegs. Didn't take it too well".

"A baby Caffrey on the loose? Now I don't feel so bad about arresting them" Diana teased, standing up with a handful of files, "I'll brief Hughes on what we're doing".

"And _I_ need to get into character" Jones said dryly, following her, "I've never stolen Krugerrands before".

* * *

Neal watched them go with a smirk before spinning his chair around and jumping up.

"I'll go convince the kids".

A quick hand on his wrist stopped him, and he turned back around with a frown.

Peter was staring at him with a calculating look in his eyes and he immediately felt guilty about something he hadn't even done yet.

"... You sure you're okay?" He finally asked.

"Of course" Neal forced his signature grin, "Like I said, they think I'm on their side".

"That's not what I asked".

His smile slowly fell.

He was surprised to find that he actually _wanted_ to tell Peter about the real plan, about Alex being in trouble and Smith being a no-good snitch and, no, the irony of _that_ wasn't lost on him, but at the same time he knew that Peter would immediately call off the operation if he _did_ find out the truth.

And besides, he wasn't… _lying_ to him, per say. He was just… you know… not telling the full truth. As usual.

Either way, it meant killing two birds with one stone and if everything went according to plan, then Peter would never even know about it.

"I'm good" Neal finally said, his jaw pulsing with every movement, "Let's just get this over with, yea?"

Maybe then, he'd come clean...


	18. 4 - By the Book

**4 - By the Book**

"I'll keep watch" Mozzie said, finding a corner to stand behind.

"Alright" Neal replied, picking the door to Sal's Lounge as subtly as he could.

"Hurry up!"

Any second now...

"I'm hurrying, Moz".

Waiting until the lock clicked, he silently slipped in and made sure to catch the door as it closed to keep that quiet too.

" _Enough!_ I don't care about a girl".

Neal frowned.

Looked like he was in the right place then.

"I care about my _money_ ".

Sneaking around the corner, he could just about see five men at a table in the inner room, with three sitting and two standing. The leader, the one who was speaking, looked oddly… _familiar_.

"Our driver drops off a package, walks out with $100,000 cash. My cash".

He crept around the corner, keeping his back to the wooden walls, and got as close as he dared to go.

"In Colombia, we'd all go for a walk in the jungle right about now".

"So that's what we do".

"Really, Vince?" the man asked again, "We go for a walk in the jungle to get my money back?"

"Yeah, but it's a _park_ ".

A drop off, then, or an exchange. The girl for the money. In theory, it was a good plan, but there was no way of securing Gina's safety unless they knew who these guys were trying to meet with.

Neal froze as his phone started to buzz loudly in his pocket.

"... Someone's in here".

Shit.

He pulled it out of his pocket and hastily read the message from Diana.

_Contact Burke ASAP._

Did Peter know?!

Crouching low to the ground, he quickly considered his options. The Colombian men knew that someone was here, and even as he panicked he could hear loud footsteps coming his way. He could always make a run for the door, but then they'd _definitely_ see him, and he didn't want to risk showing his face this soon. But on the other hand, he'd rather let them see his face and escape than get caught and… you know… no longer _have_ a face.

His phone buzzed again.

Mozzie.

_GUNS!_

Well, there went _that_ option.

* * *

Jumping up, he dashed into the nearest room, unfortunately one that had a glass panel in the door, before firmly wedging his lock picking set into the door knob. It would prevent anyone with a key from entering, but once Neal caught sight of the guys he was dealing with, he quickly realised that they weren't the sort to talk things out.

"Open it" the man ordered, stepping back, "Let's do this face-to-face".

One of his thugs stepped forward, a shiny silver gun in hand.

_Shit_.

Neal frantically looked around for a way out, finally finding a vent high up in the wall that he might just be able to squeeze through. He'd gotten out of tougher situations than this, after all. Or, at least, he tried to convince himself.

"He's going for the roof".

If he could just get back outside, then he'd have a _chance_.

The thug raised his gun and fired _one two three_ and the glass door shattered.

Neal yanked the metal grill away from the air duct and pulled himself in.

"Get him!"

Elbows and knees, he crawled faster than he ever had in his life. He didn't even know if this duct led anywhere or if it was a dead end, but quite frankly, he'd rather die of suffocation than be beaten to death by a Colombian drug lord. Or weapons dealer. Or kidnapper. Or _whatever_ the hell that guy was into to have $100,000 in suitcases just lying around.

He heard movement and curses behind him but forced himself to keep going.

"What are you doing? Just _shoot_ him!"

_Shit shit shit._

Up ahead he could see the end of the air duct as it turned upwards, forming a vertical shaft that he hoped led to freedom. At the same time he heard the cocking of a gun a few meters behind them, and then there was a deafening bang and something sharp and deadly slammed into the metal just inches from his right leg.

On one hand, Neal was terrified.

On the other, _how the hell had that guy missed?!_

"You _idiota!_ "

Apparently drug-weapon-kidnapper-leader guy thought so too.

"You two, stay here, make sure he doesn't come back. The rest of you, with me!"

Neal reached the turn in the vent and awkwardly turned to sit upright. The room he'd locked himself into was nothing but a rectangle of light about six or seven meters away, but he could see two grimly smirking faces looking back at him.

He turned his gaze to the tunnel above him and wondered if he was choosing the lesser evil.

If he went back, there was one less man to deal with, but there was also an increased chance of them shooting before he even made it back to the ground. The roof would have more men, and angrier ones at that, but if he was fast enough then he might get there before them and…

And do something. Neal didn't know yet. He'd worry about that if he made it.

Getting his feet underneath him, he reached up with both hands, cursed as he cut his wrist against a jagged screw, and then took a deep breath, sneezed from all the dust, and _jumped_.

* * *

Bracing himself against opposite sides of the air duct, he slowly but surely began to climb. He'd gotten into more than a few museums like this, after all, but in those situations he usually had far more flexible clothes than a devore suit and italian leather shoes. The screws continued to cut his hands, and the tips of his fingers soon bled from gripping onto the end of metal sheets. He counted under his breath as he passed panel after panel, and decided not to think about how far he'd fall if he slipped, or if the metal panel below him would be strong enough to take his weight from a drop of this height.

Neal sneezed again, his arms shook dangerously for a moment, and then he continued shuffling upwards.

Above him, he could see a metal vent with a glimpse of blue skies beyond. He had almost made it. Just another five feet… four… three… two… _there!_

Pressing his back against one side of the vent and his legs against the other, he reached up with blood and dust covered hands.

The grill was wedged in place, and he quickly searched his pockets for his lock picking set except-

Except he'd left it in the door back in the room he'd sneaked into.

Neal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then pulled out his phone.

He just had to text Peter, let him know that he was in trouble and try to leave Mozzie out of it. The little guy wouldn't be too impressed about him bringing the Suit into this, but he'd be even less impressed if Neal suffocated to death mere _inches_ from the outside world.

He scrolled through his contacts, fingertips leaving bloody marks on the buttons, before finally finding Peter's number. Clicking on it, he began to type.

_At Sal's Cigar Lounge. Stuck on roof-_

* * *

_*BANG*_

* * *

Neal jumped, loosing his grip on the phone, and he only barely managed to hit send before it slipped from his hold and plummeted into the darkness below just as a blinding light suddenly appeared above him.

He squinted and tried to keep his grip on the vent but strong arms grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up and out onto the roof. He was thrown to the gravelled ground, blinded by the sun, and then kicked squarely in the chest.

Neal groaned, rolled, and tried to stagger to his feet, but a punishing fist around his tie yanked him forwards and dragged him across the roof.

Staggering and stumbling, he frantically blinked and scrabbled and scratched at the hand controlling him.

He had barely adjusted to his new surroundings when someone backhanded him across the face and sent him sprawling back to the ground. The gravel bit into the wounds on his hands and he could taste blood.

"Get up".

Another kick to the stomach.

"Get up!"

Slowly, _reluctantly_ , Neal got to his hands and knees and then forced his legs to support him as he stood. He swayed on the spot as he looked around. The Colombian-whatever was standing a few feet away, hands clasped together in front of him the same way footballers did in a line-up. Next to the grate, which had a bullet hole in the padlock that'd once kept it closed, stood thug number one. Thug number two, Vince, he guessed, was standing in front of him, gun in his waistband and Neal's blood on his knuckles.

"... Hey fellas".

Vince drove his fist into his stomach and Neal doubled over with a groan.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"You know, those are two _very_ good questions-"

Another punch.

" _Who are you?!_ "

"I'm batm-"

Vince grabbed him by the throat and _squeezed_.

Neal gasped and struggled and clawed at his hands.

He had black dots dancing in front of his eyes before the leader raised a hand to tell his goon to stop.

Vince let go and he fell to the ground, scrabbling to loosen his tie as he choked for air.

_You owe me one, Moz._

"I won't ask again" He spat, "Who are you?"

"I'm… I'm… I'm your worst night-"

He was hauled back to his feet, backhanded strong enough to split his lip, before Vince was dragging him across the roof once more.

This time he didn't stop until they reached the edge.

* * *

Neal glanced down at the passing cars and tiny people below, swallowed thickly, and then slowly turned back to face them.

There was a gun pointed at his head.

"You can answer our questions, and not live long enough to feel the _splat_. Or I can kick you over the edge now, and you can feel each and every _single_ _one_ of your bones _shatter_ on impact".

Well.

That wasn't much of a choice.

Neal closed his eyes, blocked out the pain the blood the bruises, and _thought_.

They had Gina and they were going to use her to get their money back from the driver who'd stolen it. He'd seen photos of her with another man in the apartment he and Mozzie had broken into, so chances were that the man in the pictures was the same man these guys were looking for.

He'd sent a message to Peter.

All he had to do was stall.

"Who I am doesn't matter" Neal said, throat protesting against every syllable, "What _does_ matter, is that I can get you your money back".

Vince clocked the gun.

"I know where it is!" He quickly continued, holding both hands in the air, "I'm friends with Gina's boyfriend. He asked me to come here to sort things out".

There was a tantalising moment of pure unadulterated _fear_ before the man in the fancy suit gave a small nod, and Vince lowered the gun.

Neal let out a heavy sigh of relief, even as the leader stepped closer and thug number one jabbed the conman forwards.

"You know Tommy?"

_The driver?_

"Yea" He said, "Gina's boyfriend".

"And you know where my money is?"

"Of course. I'm the middle man".

Neal gave his signature grin and hoped that he looked more confident than he felt.

"So you're… what? Here to set up an exchange?"

"Something like that. You want your money back. I want the girl".

He hummed, "You see, the problem with _that_ , is if it were true, _then why did you run?_ "

His grin froze on his face.

It was _always_ the little things.

* * *

The leader smiled, slow and shark like, and made another gesture at Vince.

"Kill him".

"No, no, no! Wait, _please!_ I just-"

"Everything alright here?"

_Peter_.

Neal could have collapsed from the relief as his partner appeared on the roof, stepping through the emergency exit door with Diana a few feet behind him.

"We're closed for business" the man replied.

"Special Agent Burke, FBI" He replied, "Got a report... someone broke in here. Thought I'd do my duty and stop a crime in progress".

His eyes met Neals, raking down over his hunched frame, lingering on the split lip, his cut palms, the boot prints on his shirt.

"... But I see you men are already on that".

He gave him the two finger point and Neal gladly limped over as fast as his trembling legs would carry him.

"If this man entered your place of business illegally, you have every right to press charges".

"I care deeply about the trees" the Colombian replied, "I don't want to waste paper on this guy. And don't worry, Officer… we all have permits for these guns".

Peter smirked, "I'll be back another time to check those permits. I can understand why the proprietor of a cigar lounge is so heavily armed… you never know who you're gonna find in your humidor".

Diana took his arm and led him back towards the stairs as if she planned to arrest him. Neal honestly wouldn't be all that upset if she did, if it meant he'd get away from these guys. No one spoke a word until they made it back to ground level, and Neal decided it'd _probably_ be best not to mention that he'd left a lock picking set behind.

* * *

Once they were out in the open, his legs buckled, and Diana swore before carefully helping him lower to the steps outside the building. Neal pressed his head between his knees, breathed heavily through his nose, and focused on trying not to throw up.

"Where's the little guy?" Peter asked.

It took him a moment to answer.

"Moz! Come on out".

He immediately appeared from around the corner.

"Suit, I must say your timing is impeccable- What the Faulkner happened to you?"

Neal groaned and kept his eyes shut.

"What the hell do you _think_ happened?" Peter snapped, "Did you send him in there?!"

Mozzie was still staring at the blood dripping from Neal's palms to the cold concrete below.

"I… I, um…"

"He could have been _killed!_ All because you decided to stalk your little _girlfriend_ -"

" _Peter-_ " Neal started to protest, but the agent cut him off, " _No!_ No, _you_ don't get a pass on this either. He may have been the enabler, but for you to go along with this _ridiculous_ plan… They were two seconds from _shooting_ you, Neal!"

"I know" He replied tiredly, "I was there".

"Just-" Peter cut himself off and turned on his heel, "You two can fill me in from the beginning back at the Bureau".

He stormed off, Diana close behind.

"He wants me to go to the Bureau?"

"Yeah, Moz, if you want the FBI's help, you got to go to the Bureau" Neal snipped, tired and sore and beyond annoyed with this stupid idea that he never should have agreed to in the first place and-

He got site of Mozzie' heartbroken expression and felt his anger abate a bit.

"Just do it for Gina".

He shook his head, "You know what they do to guys like me at the Bureau?"

Standing up with a curse, Neal gestured at his tracking anklet with more force than necessary.

"I do, Moz. I do".

He stalked after Peter, image somewhat ruined by his dust covered suit and obvious limp. After a second, Mozzie started to follow, staying a step or two behind.

"... I'm sorry".

"It's fine".

"No, Neal, it's not" He replied quietly, "You're my friend, and… and I shouldn't have put you above a waitress from a Maple's diner. I'm sorry".

Neal risked a glance to the side and the last of his anger drained away at how miserable the older man looked.

"It's fine" He repeated, "Just don't do it again. I don't have many suits left".

"Well, at least you'll always have _that_ Suit" Mozzie said, gesturing at the black car Peter had disappeared into, and Neal huffed a laugh, feeling his bruised throat tighten as a result.

"Come on" He replied, reaching for the car door, "Let's find your future girlfriend".


	19. 5 - Unfinished Business

**5 - Unfinished Business**

"Where do you want these?" Neal asked as Sara unlocked the door to her apartment.

"Oh, uh, you can just put them right back there" She replied, dropping her handbag and gesturing to the corner.

"Thank you".

Dropping the boxes, he silently crept towards her bag where the letters she'd picked up lay.

"You know, Neal, for an art thief-"

" _Alleged_ art thief" He corrected.

"Yea. For an _art thief_ " Sara continued, "You certainly have your moments".

He flicked through the envelopes until he found the one from the FAA.

"Well, I doubt you'll be saying that after a shower and a few hours of sleep".

She turned to face him and he quickly stepped back.

"Yea, you're probably right... _Brother_ , it never ends".

Picking up the stack of letters, he felt his heart rate increase as she got closer and _closer_ to-

"What is this?"

- _false alarm._

Neal let out a sigh of relief as she tossed the envelope up on the table with the others.

His relief didn't last long, however, when the door knob started rattling.

They both turned to face the door. Sara looked _terrified_. Raising a finger to his lips, he gestured for her to remain quiet. She slowly backed away as he softly treaded over to the door.

Turning the lock, there was a brief moment of silence, before-

_*BANG-BANG-BANG*_

Neal leapt back, grabbed Sara's arm and dragged her towards the bedroom. They hid themselves on either side of the partition while the nameless man, presumably the real Mr Black, kicked down the door and began to search the apartment.

His heart was beating furiously in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins and there was an odd ringing in his ears.

Sara's hands searched blindly through the dresser's drawers, trying to find her gun.

Mr Black turned and saw Neal.

"Hey-"

_*BANG*_

* * *

The mirror smashed into a million little pieces and the hit man rushed forwards as he realised it was only a reflection. Turning the corner, he pointed the gun at Neal's head, just as Sara found her own weapon and raised it on him.

"Drop it. _Now!_ "

Mr Black hesitated.

"I said _drop it!_ "

The front door was kicked open once more as FBI agents rushed in.

"I'd listen to her if I were you".

Neal wasn't sure if he'd ever been so relieved to see Peter.

"Get him out of here".

Which, now that he thought about it, was _exactly_ what he said every time he got into trouble.

"Come on. Let's go".

But at least this time, he hadn't gotten hurt.

"Neal?"

He blinked and suddenly Mr Black was in handcuffs and Peter was standing in front of him and Sara was looking strangely concerned.

"Are you okay?"

He stared back blankly.

"Your arm" Peter explained, eyes a touch more worried than they should be considering that _Neal hadn't gotten_ -

Oh.

So much for _that_ theory.

Neal stared at the red stain slowly spreading out across his sleeve, his sleeve that now had a line cutting through it that hadn't been there before, a line so straight that it could only have been caused by something sharp or fast or-

His gaze drifted back to the door and the three holes left after Mr Black's shooting spree. The same door he'd reached across to grab Sara and shove her ahead of him so she'd be safe from any stray bullet that might have-

_Oh_.

"Neal?"

His knees wobbled.

* * *

Peter immediately rushed forwards, weapon already holstered and both hands coming up under Neal's arms as he fell. He managed to half-balance them both until they stumbled back to that _hideous_ orange couch. Peter lowered him to it until he was sitting and then crouched down in front of him, tapping the side of his face to get his attention. He was distantly aware of Sara rushing off in the opposite direction.

"Neal? _Neal!_ Hey, look at me, _focus on me!_ "

He blinked again, belatedly realised that _that's_ why his ears had been ringing because for a second there he'd thought he was losing his edge but… nope. He'd just gotten shot.

_Again._

"Get EMT's in here!" Peter yelled over his shoulder before quickly turning back, "Hey, what's this make it, huh? Three, four times you've been shot?"

"... Three" Neal replied slowly, head spinning despite his body staying still, "The, uh… The first time was just a… a graze".

"Here" Sara said, appearing on the floor next to Peter with a towel in her hands, "Wrap this around his arm. _Tight_ ".

Peter did as told and wondered if it was a good or bad thing that his CI seemed numb to the whole thing.

"What is even _doing_ here?"

"I needed a ride" She replied with a somewhat guilty shrug, "Didn't think I'd be leading him to a shoot out".

"'m not a _dog_ " Neal complained, watching with sickening fascination as the white towel slowly turned red.

"Oh, I don't about that" Sara smirked "You followed me home, after all. Not to mind the fact you've got a Rapheal buried somewhere".

" _Allegedly_ ".

"Allegedly" She allowed, her smirk softening into a smile even as the man in front of her started to pale and tilt ever so slightly to the right. There was something oddly… _vulnerable_ about seeing the suave conman like this. Something that made him seem more _human_.

"Sir! Paramedics are on their way. ETA ten minutes".

Peter nodded once at the nameless FBI agent before turning back.

"Think you can hold on that long?"

Neal slowly nodded, eyes still focused on his arm.

"'s not that deep. No bones, 'n no arteries hit".

"How do you know?"

His gaze briefly flickered up to meet hers.

"Cause I'd 'ave bled out by now if they were".

Sara immediately blanched and he momentarily felt a stab of guilt. He wasn't lying, though, he knew that a severed artery could kill a person in five minutes without help, and a worn old bathroom towel wasn't doing much good with just this much blood, let alone if the bullet had actually hit a major vein.

And besides, the almost _comically_ grim look on Peter's face confirmed it too.

* * *

"Flesh wound?" He asked, and Neal nodded carefully once more, head still spinning.

"Or a bad graze. I dunno, it just… it _hurts_ ".

His expression immediately softened.

"What are we gonna do with you, kid?"

"Put me on the good stuff?"

Peter huffed a laugh.

"Yea, don't worry, I'll make sure the doctors put you on the good stuff".

Sara's concern was waning slightly as she listened, curiosity bubbling up in its place.

"Are you… I mean, it's just… You're taking this very… _calmly_ " She eventually said, " _Both_ of you".

"Neal's rather… _accident prone_ " Peter replied wryly, "For a cat burglar, you'd never think it".

" _Alleged_ cat burglar".

"You know, one of these days, 'alleged' is going to be your last word".

"Worth it".

Peter sighed and shook his head, adjusting his grip on the bloody towel as red drops started to drip softly to the floorboards below. In the distance, they heard sirens.

"This is a regular occurance, then?" Sara asked again.

"Try _every single case_ without fail".

"Not _every_ case" Neal immediately protested, leaning more heavily against the side of the couch.

"Name _one!_ " Peter countered, " _One_ case where you did _not_ get shot, stabbed, beaten up, punched, or plain ole' slapped!"

"... Avery 'n the stocks".

"Avery and the- Neal. You _suffocated_ ".

"Yea" He replied, eyelashes flickering, "But I didn't get shot, stabbed, beat up, punched, or slapped".

Sara looked between them amused. It was clearly an argument as old as time given Peter's exasperated but fond smile and Neal's somewhat dazed but triumphant smirk. She still didn't trust the conman, not even a tiny little _miniscule_ bit, but seeing him like this, seeing the way he and Peter interacted, seeing the way that the FBI agent genuinely cared about his pet criminal… Well. Maybe, eventually, she could... start to like him?

Maybe.

_Eventually_.

* * *

Neal caught her look and his smirk widened even as there was a screech of tires outside and men in white rushed in.

"Excitement and intrigue…"

"Follow me wherever I go" She finished, stepping as the paramedics took over.

Neal gave one of the men a scowl of _utter betrayal_ as he cut through the sleeve of his suit, before returning her wry look.

"That's probably true for both of us".

Peter let go of the towel, now only suitable for trash, as the other paramedic pulled out a heap of bandages. Neal was hauled to his feet, staggering briefly before being steadied and lead towards the door where the ambulance waited outside.

Sara watched him go and couldn't help but call after him.

"Looking forward to trying that soup".

He flashed her a weak grin over his shoulder before disappearing through the broken door.

Peter waited until he was out of sight before frowning and turning back to her.

"... Soup?"


End file.
